Guilford  Portraits 


Memorial  Epitaphs 


Alderbrook  and  Westside 


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Guilford  Portraits 


Memorial    Epitaphs    of    Alderbrook 

and  Westside  with  Introductory 

Elegies  and  Essay 

BY 

HENRY  PYNCHON  ROBINSON 


Fifty-three  Illustrations 


1815-1907 


THE  PEASE-LEWIS  CO. 

NEW  HAVEN,  CONN. 
I907 


• 

THE     TUTTLE,     MOREHOUSE    &    TAYLOR     PRESS. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Prefatory  Essay  on  Epitaphs  and  Burials v// 

Introductory  Elegy,  Alderbrook. 

Part         I.     The  Journey's  End   i 

Part       II.     The  Burial  Train    n 

Part     III.     The  Pathos  of  the  Past 23 

Part      IV.     Alderbrook    35 

Guilford  Portraits,  Memorial  Epitaphs  of  Alderbrook. v 

Part        V.     Baldwin — Dunn    46 

Part      VI.     Dupraz— Hall    64 

Part     VII.     Halleck— Munson    83 

Part  VIII.     Norton— Woodruff    101 

Introductory  Elegy,  Westside. 

Part      III.     Spirit  Life  and  Lore   153 

Part         I.     Riverside  117 

Part       II.     The  Hidden  Mystery   133 

Part      IV.     Westside  Obsequies   173 

Guilford  Portraits,  Memorial  Epitaphs  of  Westside. 

Part        V.     Allen— Fisher   183 

Part      VI.     Goldsmith — Johnson   196 

Part    VII.     Leete — Robinson    211 

Part  VIII.     Smith— Weld  228 


LIST  OF  PORTRAIT  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

Rev.  A.  C.  Baldwin facing  183 

Mrs.  Ruth  E.  Baldwin "  48 

Rev.  L.  T.  Bennett,  D.D "  50 

Miss  Caroline  Bradley   "  185 

Miss  Frances  S.  Burgis 53 

Miss  Clarissa  Caldwell    "  55 

Dr.  Joel  Canfield   "  186 

Mrs.  Eunice  F.  Chittenden 188 

Henry  W.  Chittenden "  56 

Mrs.  Mary  G.  Chittenden "  58 

Miss  Mary  Dutton    "  65 

Mrs.  Catherine  H.  Elliott "  67 

Charles    Wyllys    Elliott "  68 

Lewis  R.  Elliott "  70 

Col.  Geo.  A.  Foote "  72 

Henry  Fowler  193 

Rev.  A.  B.  Goldsmith "  197 

Mrs.  M.  C.  Goldsmith "  197 

Elliott  W.  Gregory "  75 

Mrs.  Charlotte  S.  Gregory "  75 

Judge  Nathaniel  Griffing 199 

Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Griffing "  199 

Rev.  E.  Edwin  Hall "  80 

Rev.  Henry  L.  Hall "  82 

Fitz  Greene  Halleck 84 

Daniel  Hand    "  204 

Amos  S.  Hotchkiss "  206 


VI 


LIST    OF    PORTRAIT     ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

John  Hotchkiss  facing  206 

Major  Samuel  C.  Johnson "       209 

Judge  George  Landon "         93 

Mrs.  Ruth  H.  Landon "         94 

Judge  Edward  R.  Landon 96 

Mrs.  Parnel  C.  Landon 98 

Deacon  Albert  A.  Leete 212 

Deacon  Edward  L.  Leete 215 

William  H.  H.  Murray "       219 

Mrs.   Mary  C.   Parker "       221 

Deacon  Eli  Parmelee 102 

Jonathan  Parmelee    104 

Capt.  U.   N.   Parmelee "       222 

Rev.  Henry  Robinson 224 

Mrs.  Mary  C.  Robinson 225 

Major  Samuel  Robinson 226 

Judge  Ralph  D.   Smyth "        108 

Richard  E.  Smyth "        1 1 1 

Samuel   Spencer    229 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  T.  Spencer 230 

Mrs.  Temperance  T.   Spencer 232 

Miss  Clara  J.  Stone 236 

Miss  Sarah  Talcott  236 

Dr.  Alvan  Talcott "       238 

Mrs.  Sarah  R.  Todd "       113 

Mrs.  Annie  G.  Vittum "        114 


PREFATORY  ESSAY  ON  EPITAPHS  AND 

BURIALS. 

This  little  work,  a  harvest  chiefly  of  memories  of  the  past, 
has  been  in  a  special  way  spontaneous.  When  moved  to 
express  regrets  on  the  recent  loss  of  a  friend,  visions  of  others 
rose  before  me  and  I  continued  to  write,  passing  from  one  to 
another.  The  subject  dwelt  with  me  and  strangely  engaged 
my  attention;  the  vividness  of  memories  revived  was  like  a 
revelation  and  the  experience  of  dwelling  from  month  to  month 
in  reverie  over  those  who  have  passed  away  has  been  peculiar 
and  absorbing. 

These  portraits  or  memorials,  with  few  exceptions, 
are  drawn  from  personal  impressions,  in  some  cases 
verified,  and  in  some  enlarged,  by  the  more  intimate 
recollections  of  others ;  in  no  case  purely  imaginary,  they  are 
yet  mere  shadows  of  the  living  originals.  Not  all  memories 
of  the  past  are  vivid,  and  I  regret  in  too  many  instances  the 
scant  tracing  of  character  and  the  faint  revival  of  personality 
presented.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  they  have  been 
prepared  under  great  limitations. 

Lives,  like  suns  and  moons,  present  phases  that  vary  with 
their  own  periods.  Personal  traits  and  humors,  and  our 
knowledge  of  them,  are  to  some  extent  inconstant.  One  can- 
not hope  to  be  always  fortunate  in  dealing  with  such 
vicissitudes.  Of  these,  some  appear  in  early  maturity,  some  in 
meridian  fulness,  and  others  in  the  past  prime  of  their 
decadence.  In  taking  subjects  for  memorial  I  have  chosen, 
amid  the  accidents  of  opportunity,  such  as  seemed  to  lend 
themselves  to  the  conditions ;    in  a  few  cases  grappling  with 


Vlll  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

the  contrary,  though  mindful  of  the  forbidding  adage,  "if 
you  do  not  know  of  me  do  not  speak  of  me." 

If  such  sketches,  from  their  required  exactness,  are  thought 
to  be  ill  suited  to  metrical  treatment,  certainly  verse,  employed 
to  convey  with  a  little  more  grace,  vignettes  of  life  and 
character,  need  not  be  expected  to  do  more  than  that.  Such 
verse,  a  mere  "homespun  thread  of  rhymes,"  outside  the 
sphere  of  the  imagination,  has  little  of  poetry  but  its 
measured  form,  and  aims  to  be  simply  narrative  and  descrip- 
tive or  quaintly  plaintive  and  bewailing.  A  writer  of  authority 
declares  "that  whatever  subject  matter  can  be  penetrated 
with  strong  human  feeling  is  fit  for  verse ;  then  the  rhythm 
and  form  become  spontaneous."  This  has  been  my  experience 
here,  and  while  the  use  of  verse  has  been  exceptional,  as  con- 
trary to  my  habit  of  writing,  its  trammels  and  exactions 
serving  both  as  irritant  and  stimulus,  the  discipline  has  led  to 
compacter  expression  and  even  to  better  results  in  pith  and 
point  of  the  matter  expressed. 

To  extend  the  scope  and  possible  value  of  the  whole,  I  have 
added  parts  introductory  on  related  topics ;  not  assuming  to 
have  news  along  lines  almost  as  old  as  the  race  itself,  where 
by  special  division  and  later  extension  I  have  striven  to  give 
tokens  of  design  to  what  was  earlier  written  without  design. 
If  there,  I  depart  from  the  local  limit,  set  to  my  general 
purpose,  yet  what  is  lost  in  unity  will  be  found  in  diversity 
and  nowhere  is  the  true  tenor  of  the  subject  abandoned. 

The  literature  of  epitaphs  and  of  mortuary  memorials, 
obscure  and  rare,  would  yet  fill  a  storehouse  with  lamentations 
and  'compleynts.'  Puttenham,  in  the  "Art  of  English  Poesie" 
[1584-88],  quaintly  sets  forth  this  species  of  writing:  "An 
epitaph  is  an  inscription,  such  as  a  man  may  commodiously 
write  or  engrave  upon  a  table,  in  few  verses  pithie,  quicke 
and  sententious,  for  the  passer-by  to  peruse  and  judge  upon 


EPITAPHS    AND    BURIALS  IX 

without  any  long  tauriance."  They  were  orginally  sung  at 
burials  and  were  then  engraven  upon  the  tomb.  Philologists 
say  that  all  old  words  for  writing  mean  cutting,  since  all  writ- 
ing was  originally  graving  upon  a  stone  as  the  most  durable 
substance. 

In  Greek  epitaphs  the  thought  is  turned  backward  to  the 
life  that  is  past  and  seldom  to  the  life  that  is  supposed  to 
come,  and  the  seriousness  of  the  tomb  is  not  incompatible 
with  a  note  of  cheerfulness.  The  Lacedemonians  forbid  them 
save  for  those  who  had  died  for  their  country.  The  historian 
Merivale  has  translated  many  of  Greek  origin  as  written  in 
elegiac  verse  by  Theocritus,  Aeschylus,  Sappho  and  other 
Grecians.  The  following  on  the  poet  Sophocles  is  by  Simmias 
of  Thebes : 

Wind,  gentle  evergreen,  to  form  a  shade 
About  the  tomb  where  Sophocles  is  laid : 
Sweet  ivy,  wind  thy  boughs  and  intertwine 
With  blushing  roses  and  the  clustering  vine : 
Thus  shall  thy  lasting  leaves  with  beauties  hung 
Prove  grateful  emblems  of  the  lays  he  sung. 

We  find  colloquies  carried  on  in  stately  courtesy  between  the 
tenants  of  sepulchres  and  passers-by.  Not  only  human  beings 
but  sometimes  favorite  animals  had  their  burials  and  epitaphs. 
Orators  of  the  first  class,  as  Pericles  and  Demosthenes,  made 
addresses  at  public  funerals.  How  natural,  as  if  spoken  by 
an  orator  of  our  day,  sounds  this,  taken  from  the  funeral 
oration  of  Pericles  over  Greeks,  the  first  fallen  in  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war:  'Tor  the  whole  earth  is  the  sepulchre  of 
famous  men :  not  only  are  they  commemorated  by  columns 
and  inscriptions  in  their  own  country,  but  in  foreign  lands 
there  dwells  also  an  unwritten  memorial  of  them,  graven  not 


X  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

on  stone  but  in  the  hearts  of  men."  (Thucydides  II.  43 ; 
Jowett.)  Among  the  Romans,  Julius  Caesar,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  delivered  the  eulogy  over  his  aunt  Julia,  the  widow 
of  Marius.  Grand  burials  were  made  along  the  great  public 
roads,  as  at  Rome,  chiefly  on  the  Appian  and  Flaminian  ways, 
leading  south  and  north  from  the  city.  A  coin  was  provided 
to  pay  Charon's  ferriage  over  the  Styx ;  this  toll  has  been  found, 
as  placed  between  the  teeth.  The  ceremonies  among  the  upper 
classes  were  imposing.  At  the  grand  funeral  of  Junia,  the 
wife  of  Cassius  and  sister  of  Brutus,  the  images  of  Cassius 
and  Brutus  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence,  they  being 
still  under  attainder  for  their  parts  in  the  death  of  Coesar. 

Outside,  near  the  Colline  Gate,  erring  vestal  virgins  were 
buried  alive.  These  animate  burials,  described  by  Pliny  and 
Plutarch,  were  rare ;  some  twelve  are  known.  The  senior 
vestal,  Cornelia,  is  an  instance  in  the  reign  of  Domitian,  A.  D. 
91.  Cicero's  sister-in-law,  his  wife  Terentia's  sister  Fabia, 
a  vestal,  barely  escaped  this  fate.  Cremation,  practiced  in 
remote  antiquity,  was  revived  in  the  time  of  Sylla,  near  100 
B.  C. :  who,  from  fear  of  enemies,  offered  himself  for 
example  and  was  then  urned  among  the  old  kings  of  Rome,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tiber.  In  the  second  century,  the  older 
practice  of  burial  was  more  fashionable.  Cremation  was  dis- 
continued early  in  the  fifth  century,  owing  chiefly  to  the 
Christian  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  Burial  in  the 
Catacombs  was  given  up  about  410,  the  year  of  the  storming 
of  Rome  by  Alaric  the  Visigoth,  when  the  geese  of  Juno  failed 
to  warn  the  city. 

'  A  common  sentiment  on  Roman  monuments  is  the  passage 
from  Tacitus :  Terra  tibi  levis  sit !  "Let  earth  lie  light 
above  thee !"  Pope,  in  his  epigram  on  Vanbrugh,  the  architect 
of  Marlborough  Mansion,  gives  a  sharp  turn  to  the  thought : 


EPITAPHS    AND   BURIALS  XI 

Lie  heavy  on  him  earth,  for  he 
Laid  many  a  heavy  load  on  thee. 

Lucian  satirized  the  tomb  of  King  Mausolus  of  Caria,  erected 
352  B.  C.,  as  a  crushing  weight  of  stones  to  lay  upon  a  man. 
Some  few  broken  remnants  of  this,  the  original  mausoleum, 
one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  are  preserved  in  the  British 
Museum.  As  described  by  Pliny  and  Martial,  it  was  built, 
based  like  a  pyramid,  extending  broad  and  deep  underground, 
but  of  marbles  so  bright  that  above  it  seemed  to  hang  in  the 
air. 

In  addition  to  their  common  oracles,  the  Romans  had  places 
where  the  dead  were  called  up  to  hold  communion  with  the 
living;    this  very  much  in  the  faked  fashion  of  our  day. 

We  are  told  that  the  ancient  Etruscans  [whose  rule  as  a 
people  lasted  about  twelve  centuries  preceding  the  Romans], 
in  order  to  bring  themselves  nearer  to  the  dead  and  to  com- 
municate with  their  spirits,  would  come  to  the  sepulchres  at 
nightfall  and  sometimes  sleep  beside  the  urns  of  their  friends, 
wives  and  children,  brothers  and  lovers,  and  receive  visions 
from  their  souls  that  always  hovered  around. 

More  than  three  thousand  mortuary  inscriptions  have  been 
found  in  the  Etruscan  tombs,  in  central  and  southern  Italy, 
Perugia,  a  capital  city.     They  now  contain  little  but  names. 

English  epitaphs  have  been  written  largely  in  vernacular 
verse  and  Latin  prose.  At  one  period  jocular  men  of  letters 
came  together  with  their  pockets  crammed  with  epitaphs, 
which  they  read  for  amusement.  The  company  of  wits,  to 
which  Goldsmith  belonged,  took  a  fancy  to  write  playful 
epitaphs  upon  him  as  "the  late  Dr.  Goldsmith."  This  was 
written  by  Garrick : 

Here  lies  poet  Goldsmith :    for  shortness,  called  Noll ; 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talked  like  poor  Poll. 


Xll  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

Goldsmith  retaliated : 

Here  lies  David  Garrick,  describe  him  who  can; 
An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man; 
As  an  actor,  confessed  without  rival  to  shine ; 
As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line. 

Doctor  Johnson  made  a  review  of  Pope's  epitaphs,  as  did  also 
the  poet  Wordsworth,  who  spoke  sharply  of  them.  The  lofti- 
est writers  from  Spenser  to  Pope  thought  it  no  condescension 
to  pen  an  epitaph.  Milton  made  one  on  Hobson,  the  Cam- 
bridge carrier  to  London,  the  original  of  'Hobson's  choice.' 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  amused  herself  in  writing  them.  Ben 
Jonson  wrote  these  lines  on  Mary,  the  sister  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney: 

Underneath  this  sable  hearse 
Lies  the   subject  of   all  verse: 
Sidney's   sister,    Pembroke's  mother. 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Learned   and    fair  and  good   as   she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

'Rare  Ben'  made  tender  little  epitaphs  on  children.  The 
following  upon  a  child  is  by  Robert  Herrick : 

Here  she  lies,  a  pretty  bud 
Lately  made  of  flesh  and  blood ; 
Who  as  soone  fell  fast  asleep 
As  her  little  eyes  did  peep. 
Give  her  strewings  but  not  stir 
The  earth  that  lightly  covers  her. 

In  early  days,  inscriptions  were  prohibited  save  to  those 
high  in  rank  and  honor.  Few,  of  any  kind,  are  known 
before    the    eleventh    century;    these    are    chiefly    of    kings, 


EPITAPHS    AND   BURIALS  xiii 

princes  and  prelates  of  the  church,  and  are  in  the  Latin  tongue. 
French  epitaphs  appear  in  England  belonging  to  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  centuries.  A  very  singular  one  of  twenty-eight 
lines,  old  French,  on  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  is  found  in 
Canterbury  Cathedral.  Edward  died  in  1376.  Verses  were 
sometimes  inscribed  in  golden  letters,  as  at  Rouen  over 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion. 

The  style  of  actual  inscriptions,  often  playful  and  peculiar, 
became  after  a  time  degraded  and  vulgarized.  Indeed,  like 
the  graffiti,  or  scribblings,  seen  on  old  Roman  and  Pompeiian 
walls  to-day,  such  inscriptions  do  not  belong  to  lawful  litera- 
ture. Various  collections  of  them  are  recommended  as 
curious,  quaint  and  amusing  and  are  put  forward  as  "light 
writings  on  grave  subjects." 

At  Saint  Paul's,  London,  "obiit  1633  Reverend  John 
Donne."  The  day  after  his  burial,  these  lines  were  found, 
written  with  a  coal  on  the  wall  above  his  grave :  they  are 
believed  to  be  by  Isaac  Walton: 

Reader,  I  am  to  let  thee  know 
Donne's  body  only  lies  below ; 
For,  could  the  grave  his  soul  comprise, 
Earth  would  be  richer  than  the  skies. 

Oxford  scholars  of  the  last  century  doted  on  epitaphs  like 
this  on  an  infant  from  Eglingham  churchyard : 

When  the  archangel's  trump  doth  blow 
And  souls  to  bodies  join, 
Thousands  will  wish  their  life  below 
Had  been  as  brief  as  mine. 

Fuller,   in   his   "Worthies,"    does   not   disdain   the    subject,   as 
in  the  lines  on  a   'painful'   preacher,  one  Ward  of  Haverhill : 


XIV  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

Grant  some  of  knowledge,  greater  store, 

More  learned  some  in  teaching ; 
Yet  few  in  life  did  lighten  more, 

None  thundered  more  in  preaching. 

Fuller's  epitaph  upon  himself  was    "Here  lies  Fuller's  earth." 

Now  and  then  a  choice  humor,  quaintly  put,  seems  half 
pardonable,  and  at  this  distance  of  time  and  space  we 
shall  half  forgive  this  sly  turn  from  Ashburton  Church, 
England,  1779,  on  Elizabeth  Ireland  : 

Here  I  lie  at  the  chancel  door; 
Here  I  lie,  because  I'm  poor. 
The   farther  in,  the  more  you  pay; 
Here  lie  I  as  warm  as  they. 

At  Edinburgh  this  is  found : 

Remember  man,  as  thou  goes*  by, 
As  thou  art  now,  so  once  was  I ; 
As  I  am  now  so  shalt  thou  be : 
Remember  man  that  thou  must  die. 

Such  sentiment,  always  tersely  expressed,  is  common  to  the 
catacombs  and  ossuaries  of  Europe  and  is  of  great  antiquity. 
Scaliger,  who  in  a  sleepless  fit  of  the  gout  could  make  two 
hundred  verses  in  a  night,  would  have  but  five  plain  words 
upon  his  tomb. 

Acute  writers  have  treated  sepulchres  and  memorials.  Sir 
Thomas  Brown  in  "Urn  Burial''  declares  "that  grave  stones 
tell  truth  scarce  forty  years;  generations  pass  while  some 
trees  stand  and  old  families  last  not  three  oaks."  Sir  Thomas 
sets  out  in  quaint  terms  his  truly  erudite  and  hermit  studies. 

*  Northern  dialect. 


EPITAPHS    AND   BURIALS  XV 

Erasmus  makes  a  merry  colloquy  on  "The  Funeral"  and 
again  on  "The  Scholastick  Funeral,"  in  which  solemn  topics 
are  drolled  upon  in  his  peculiar  humor.  Alcidamus  left  a 
treatise  in  praise  of  death,  enumerating  the  evils  of  life. 
Cicero  calls  it,  not  philosophical,  but  eloquent  in  diction. 
Cicero,  to  console  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  daughter  Tullia 
who  died  in  giving  birth  to  a  son  Lentulus,  wrote  a  book, 
called  "The  Consolatio,"  which  is  lost.  Goethe  wrote  in 
caricature  "The  Skeleton's  Dance."  Dryden  represents  the 
dead  at  the  resurrection  as  "fumbling  for  their  bones." 
Coleridge  composed  his  own  epitaph  in  four  maundering  lines. 
The  poet  Horace  declares  that  "the  Gauls  never  feared 
funerals."  The  Druids  believed  death  was  but  the  middle  of 
a  long  life. 

Bishop  Taylor,  with  droll  humor,  writes  in  "Holy  Dying:" 
"Take  away  but  the  pomps  of  death,  the  disguises  and  solemn 
bugbears  and  the  actings  by  candlelight  and  proper  and 
phantastick  ceremonies ;  the  minstrels  and  the  noisemakers, 
the  women  and  the  weepers,  the  nurses  and  the  physicians, 
the  dark  room  and  the  ministers,  the  kindred  and  the  watchers, 
and  then  to  die  is  easy  and  quitted  from  its  troublesome 
circumstances.  It  is  the  same  harmless  thing  that  a  poor 
shepherd   suffered   yesterday   or   a   maid-servant  to-day." 

When  Edmund  Spenser,  the  poet-laureate,  was  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey  near  Chaucer,  mournful  elegies  and 
poems  with  the  pens  that  wrote  them  were  thrown  into  the 
grave.  These  by  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson  and  mighty 
Marlowe. 

The  days  of  Shakespeare  are  termed  "the  epitaph-making 
period."  The  present  monument  to  Chaucer  was  erected 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  his  decease.  The  only 
memorial  to  him.  for  many  years  was  a  leaden  plate,  hanging 
nearby  on  a  pillar  with  an  epitaph  made  by  a  poet-laureate. 
There  lie  the  cross-legged  effigies  of  the  Crusaders,  in  attitude, 
upturned    and    appealing.     Many    of    the    Abbey    monuments 


XVI  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

now  appear  indecorous  and  rude.  Canon  Farrar  is  frank  in 
condemnation  of  the  "kicking  gracefulness"  of  certain  statues 
and  sighs  over  "the  lumpy  monuments,  the  hideous  and  vulgar 
tombs."  Hundreds  of  epitaphs  are  found  in  the  Abbey; 
some  of  these  are  called  'heathenish'  and  even  'bloodthirsty', 
some  are  designed  'to  puzzle  posterity.'  Mr.  Loftie  also 
speaks  of  'odious  little  busts'  as  of  Grote,  Longfellow,  and 
Macaulay,  and  'the  funny  little  white  busts'  as  of  Kingsley 
and  Maurice.  He  refers  to  a  so-called  'pancake  monument' 
and  finds  others  'ugly  and  vulgar.'  Mr.  J.  Gwin  in  1749 
declared  in  substance  that  some  of  the  statuesque  representa- 
tions were  no  more  suitable  than  the  lions  of  Van  Amburgh 
would  be,  if  placed  there  in  marble. 

Dr.  Wiseman,  writing  of  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral,  London, 
marks  the  incongruity  of  drum,  trumpet,  boarding-pike  and 
cannon,  displayed  there.  These  grim  tokens  of  Death's 
weapons,  having  passed  from  armories  to  cathedrals,  have 
come  into  rural  cemeteries,  where  sometimes  cannon  are  set 
up,  those  engines  of  war  being  curiously  turned  in  times  of 
peace  into  emblems  of  consolation.  This  too,  however  drama- 
tic, has  more  of  the  nature  of  crude  irony  and  jest.  Tomb- 
stones of  the  eighteenth  century  even  now  appear  grotesque 
with  hour-glass,  scythe,  cherubs'  heads,  vertebrae,  skull  and 
bones,  sculptured  upon  them.  When  Sir  Christopher  Wren 
directed  the  building  of  the  present  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral 
there  were  seen  under  the  graves  of  the  later  times  the  burial- 
places  of  the  Saxon  days;  the  graves  lined  with  chalkstones. 
Below  these  were  British  graves  where  were  found  ivory  and 
wooden  pins  that  had  fastened  the  stout  woolen  wraps  in 
which  their  simple  conveyances  were  made.  In  the  same  row 
and  at  the  depth  of  eighteen  feet  were  Roman  urns  inter- 
mixed. These  were  of  the  times  when  British  and  Romans 
lived  and  died  together, 


EPITAPHS    AND    BURIALS  XV11 

Celtic,  Roman  and  Saxon  remains  have  been  unearthed,  much 
intermingled  within  the  same  mounds.  Pepin  the  short,  the 
father  of  Charlemagne,  was  buried  face  downward  (A.  D. 
768.)  Hugh  Capet,  the  ancestor  of  all  the  throned  Kings  of 
France,  was,  in  like  manner,  put  to  rest  under  the  spout  of 
Saint  Denis'  Cathedral,  so  that  his  sins  might  be  washed  out 
by  the  falling  rains  (A.  D.  996).  This  face-down  fashion 
was  termed  adens  burial:    (ad  dentes,  upon  the  teeth). 

The  practice  of  burying  the  head  and  other  parts  separate 
from  the  body  is  traced  to  the  Egyptians,  whose  sepulchres 
chiseled  into  the  mountain  rock  along  the  Nile,  are  among 
the  most  impressive  memorials  of  antiquity.  Indeed,  the 
sepulchral  valley  of  the  Nile  has  been  termed,  "a  long  funeral 
path."  In  Egypt,  layers  of  papyrus  pasted  together  inclosed 
the  body  for  ordinary  interment. 

It  was  a  fancy  of  the  Scandinavians  that  the  soul  remained 
conscious  in  the  tomb : 

Now  children,  lay  us  in  two  lofty  graves 
Down  by  the  sea-shore,  near  the  deep  blue  waves ; 
Their  sounds  shall,  to  our  souls,  be  music  sweet, 
Singing  our  dirge  as  on  the  strand  they  beat ; 
When,  round  the  hills  the  pale  moonlight  is  thrown 
And  midnight  dews  fall  on  the  Bauta  stone, 
We'll  sit,  O  Thorsten,  in  our  rounded  graves, 
And  speak  together  o'er  the  gentle  waves. 

The  passing  bell  to  announce  the  dying  can  be  retraced  to 
Anglo-Saxon  days.  It  was  tolled  in  churches  as  early  as 
640 :  its  first  use  being  to  drive  away  evil  spirits,  then  to 
spread  the  tidings  that  a  soul  was  about  passing  away.  The 
custom  was  common  in  the  fifteenth  century  of  keeping  the 
obit  or  anniversary  of  a  person's  decease,  noticed  with  prayers 
and  alms  or  other  observance.     Funds  were  devoted  in  wills 

1* 


XV111  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

for  this  purpose.  Four  obits  a  year  were  kept  for  William 
Wykeham,  Bishop  of  Winchester :  whose  eyes  in  life,  we  are 
told,  always  filled  with  tears  when  he  sang  the  Requiem  for 
the  dead. 

The  last  ceremonies  of  the  common  people,  as  was  custom- 
ary also  among  the  Romans,  took  place  by  torchlight  at  night. 
The  lych  gate  served  for  a  short  stay  and  lych  stones  likewise 
provided  rests  on  the  way  to  the  burial. 

The  English  planted  the  long  lived  yew  and  the  stately 
cypress  in  their  sacred  grounds,  as  at  Canterbury  and  Stoke 
Pogis.     Of  the  yew,  Tom  Hood  speaks  thus  tenderly : 

How  wide  the  yew  tree  spreads  its  solemn  gloom 
And  o'er  the  dead,  lets  fall  its  dew ; 
As  if  in  tears,  it  wept  for  them. 
The  many  human  families  that  sleep  around  its  stem. 

Data  of  American  memorials  are  now  collected.  This  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Woodbridge  on  the  Reverend  and  'much  desired' 
minister  John  Cotton,  deceased  1652,  is  one  of  the  best 
examples  of  the  old  style : 

A  living,  breathing  bible,  tables  where 
Both  covenants  at  large  engraven  were. 
Gospel  and  law  in  heart  had  each  its  column; 
His  head,  an  index  to  the  sacred  volume. 
His  very  name,  a  title  page;    and  next 
His  life,  a  commentary  on  the  text. 
Oh!    what  a  monument  of  glorious  worth 
When,  in  a  new  edition,  he  comes  forth 
Without  errata :    we  may  think  he'll  be 
In  leaves  and  covers  of  eternity. 

Mrs.  Earle,  in  a  chapter  on  "Burial  Customs  in  old  New 
England,"  describes  the  gruesome  ways  of  Colonial  times 
when  laudatory  lines  and  verses  were  fastened  to  the  bier  and 


EPITAPHS   AND   BURIALS  XIX 

the  funeral  elegy  was  in  vogue.  At  burials  the  bell  was  tolled 
four  strokes  to  the  minute :  two  sets  of  bearers  were  usual : 
addresses  were  common  at  the  grave  and  funeral  feasts 
followed.  The  magistrate  walked  with  the  mourning  widow : 
rings  and  gloves  were  given  out  and  finally  tombstones  were 
fetched  over  seas  from  the  old  flinty  mother  country  to  rock- 
bound  New  England. 

A  legend  of  Brittany,  to  which  allusion  is  elsewhere  made, 
tells  of  an  imaginary  town  called  Is,  that  was  swallowed  up 
by  the  sea  at  some  time  unknown.  The  tips  of  its  towers  and 
spires  appear  in  the  troughs  of  the  ocean  when  the  waves 
sink  low,  and  when  the  tides  are  spent  the  sound  of  tolling 
bells  is  fancied  or  faintly  heard  above  the  quiet  waters.  We 
too  have  a  scarce  fanciful  past  of  vanished  village  world  with 
its  peculiar  phases  and  peoples  that  have  fallen  beneath  Time's 
flood. 

Guilford  Green  itself  illustrates  this  rise  and  fall  of  com- 
munity life,  where 

"Hidden   from   all   mortal   eyes 
Deep  the  sunken  city  lies." 

Burials  on  Guilford  Green  were  discontinued  in  1818. 
These  covered  the  central  lower  part,  full  from  east  to  west 
over  about  one  third  of  the  entire  Common.  Owing  to  the 
low  grade  or  tight  texture  of  the  land,  water  would  some- 
times rise  in  new-made  graves.  Close  along  the  roadway 
running  across  on  a  diagonal  west  and  east,  the  stubbed  stones 
dark  brown  rose  up  and  inclined  like  mourners  upon  each  side. 
These  "pious  marbles,"  native  sandstones,  were  removed, 
some  to  the  new  grounds,  a  few  were  put  for  stepping-stones 
in  dooryards,  while  still  fewer  broken  ones  strayed  into  stone 
walls. 

It  is  estimated*  from  records  dating  from  1646  that  near 
fifteen  hundred  former  inhabitants  are  there  sepulchred.    The 

*  Not  verified. 


XX  PREFATORY   ESSAY 

approximate  location  of  family  lots,  if  now  lost,  is  to  some 
extent  traditional  in  families.  The  burial-place  of  the  Revd. 
Joseph  Eliot  for  example,  once  marked  by  a  tall  wooden  monu- 
ment, is  referred  to  the  high  ground  on  the  Common  before 
the  town  house. 

Our  village  community,  unable  to  find  a  single  place  of 
burial  convenient  to  all,  then  (1818)  opened  two,  Alderbrook 
and  Westside.  The  memorials  in  the  present  volume,  none 
of  them  actual  inscriptions,  relate,  with  a  few  exceptions,  to 
these  two  cemeteries.  Exceptions  refer  chiefly  to  Nut  Plains, 
Moose  Hill  and  Leete  Island. 

Among  those  memorialized  are  some  fifty  officers  of  State 
and  Church,  including  representatives,  justices,  judges,  lawyers, 
clergymen,  wardens,  deacons,  doctors,  authors,  teachers, 
colonels  and  captains  of  our  citizen  soldiery.  Of  the  whole 
number,  some  twelve  lived  nearly  a  full  century;  one  only, 
Mistress  Elsie  Reeve  Chittenden,  entered  upon  her  second 
century.  Through  the  kindness  of  friends  I  present  a  limited 
number  of  excellent  portraits  that  best  illustrate  the  quite 
remarkable  company  which  they  represent. 

Few  distinct  epitaphs  are  found  in  our  two  main  cemeteries 
and  none  appear  footworn  as  in  church  pavements  abroad ; 
but  in  our  northern  village,  quaint  verses  of  old-time  manner 
are  known,  combining  the  plaint  and  the  pathos  of  consolation. 

While  studying  the  ancient  regime  in  France,  Taine  writes 
of  those,  whose  memorials  he  was  reviewing,  "more  than 
once  at  the  Archives  in  tracing  their  handwriting  on  the 
yellow  paper,  I  was  tempted  to  speak  to  them  aloud !" 

In  raising  this  reminder  of  a  few  of  the  dwelling  dead, 
who  repose  in  our  midst,  the  reverence  of  my  youth  for  their 
hoary  heads  has  returned  to  me  and  I  have  held  with  them 
a  communion  in  which  they  have  seemed  to  bear  responsive 
parts,  so  real  has  their  presence  been. 


EPITAPHS   AND   BURIALS  XXI 

To  these  portrayals,  I  may  apply  what  the  wigmaker  of 
Paris  said  of  his  wigs  as  he  gave  out  a  sample  of  his  art  with 
a  humble  sense  of  its  imperfections:  "Your  wig  is  made, 
sir,  but  not  finished" ;  then  regarding  it  critically  and 
giving  a  twirl,  "  it  is  finished  but  is  not  complete'' ;  finally 
bestowing  a  last  shaping  turn,"  it  is  complete  but  not  perfect," 
— and  yielded  it  up  with  an  honest  sigh. 

Such  a  work  as  this  at  best  can  only  be  superficial  and 
fragmentary,  a  portfolio  of  faded  recollections,  a  book  of 
"lamentations  and  compleynts."  I  offer  it  not  without  regrets 
as  a  faulty  but  faithful  effort  in  an  unusual  direction  to  recover 
some  tokens  of  the  past,  and  in  a  few  instances  to  bring 
again  before  us  in  outline  the  forms  and  the  characters  of 
those  who  for  a  period  may  live  again  as  among  the  living 
and  then  have  none  to  remember  them. 

H.  P.  R. 

Westside,  Guilford,  Conn.,  September  20,  1906. 


XX11  INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX :    Part  I. 

Life  compassed  full:    Endowed  with  longings: 
Keep  hope  alive :    Pain  the  sentry : 
Learned   anxieties  :     Personified   fear : 
This   fancy   feint :     Life's  brittle  thread : 
Wisdom's  warning :     Egyptians  to  their  feasts : 
Amid  the  banquet  cheer :    Roman  conquerors : 
Gladiators  saluted  :    Christians  upborne : 
An  endless  trance :    The  view-point : 
All  things  diverse :     The  hazard  hour : 
Germain's  tolled  tocsin  :     The  idlest  motive  : 
Lives  to  give  away :     Plato's  republic : 
Stradella :     Through    aisles   and   arches : 
An  anthem  from  the  skies :    The  raging  wind : 
Philosophers  :    Vestals  :    Stoics. 


THE  JOURNEY'S   END 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:    PART  I. 

The  Journey's  End: 

I. 

Life  opens  compassed   full,   equipped  complete, 
As  on  some  pilgrimage  with  vagrant  feet, 
Whose  winding  way  unknown  seems  not  to  end, 
But  still  to  some  hid.  further  point  intend; 
Till,  from  the  feigned  and  fruitless,  weary  quest, 
It  hastens  speeding  into  wakeless  rest. 
Thus  spake  in  imagery  the  Saxon  Thane; 
Life  enters  like  a  bird  from  storm  and  rain, 
In  lighted  hall,  winged  messenger  of  peace, 
It  broods  awhile  until  it  seeks  release; 
Then  into  darkness  forth  it  flies  some  day 
And  fleeting  past,  life  chases  life  away. 
Endowed  with  longings  in  this  hazard  state, 
Engirt  by  Fortune's  and. misfortune's  fate, 
With  tiresome  toil  and  happy  hunger  blest, 
In  search  of  that  too  certain  sequel,  rest; 
From  darkness  ceaseless  turning  into  light 
Within  alternate,  rounding  day  and  night, 
Some  destined  doom,  unfolding  with  surprise, 
Take  heed,  beware,  defend,  resounding  cries; 
Needy,  naught  knowing,  helpless  and  forlorn, 
A  cradled  care,  a  wailing  waif,  but  born, 
So  launched  reluctant,  upon  earth  and  air, 
We  have,  despite  ourself,  our  life  affair. 
What  fortune  here,  in  innocence  of  harm, 
To  come  in  peace  and  go  without  alarm ! 
To  keep  courageous  cheer,  unawed  by  fears, 
And  hope  alive  through  the  enshrouding  years! 


INTRODUCTORY    ELEGY 

Is  pain  the  only  sentry  to  defend 
And  is  there  clear  foreknowing  of  the  end? 
We  early  view  with  cold  and  careless  gaze 
All  sad  phenomena  without  amaze. 
The  thoughtful  reason,  slow  perceiving,  grows 
Into  the  mortal  meaning  sorrow  knows. 
Alas !    but  then,  too  conscious  of  the  end, 
So  much  our  learned  anxieties  portend. 
Concerning  it,  we  chiefly  have  our  views 
From  the  dark  days  of  the  unhappy  Jews ; 
Who  more  observed  life's  finish  than  its  start 
And  studied  anxious  how  they  should  depart 
Across  that  tide  of  time,  whose  far  extension 
Alarmed  so  sore  their  frightened  apprehension. 
Man's  early  thought  personified  his  fears, 
Deemed  death  an  enemy  who  stole  his  years 
And  turned  him  vacant  to  his  voyage  adrift. 
This  fancy  feint  takes  many  an  artful  shift 
In  human  heart  and  gives  a  fund  of  lore, 
Too  copious  quite  for  research  to  explore ; 
Yet  throws  illusion  on  the  ways  of  speech 
And  makes  a  language  rather  over-reach, 
When  words  put  meaning  into  empty  naught 
Of  phantom  shapes  and  forms  by  fancy  wrought. 
Thus  Mors  was  genius  of  the  Roman  dead, 
Fate  came  to  Greek  to  cut  life's  brittle  thread, 
With  Thanatos,  the  son  of  Night  and  Sleep, 
Death's  brother-twin  who  closes  eyes  that  weep. 

When  should  mere  mortals  take  their  woful  share 
Of  news  that  wants  firm  fortitude  to  bear? 
Life's  essence,  strong  in  minds  so  slowly  dawning, 
They  scarce  would  ponder  it  as  wisdom's  warning. 
Yet  wise  is  wholesome  fear  and  just  alarm 


THE  JOURNEY'S   END  3 

To  make  one  shield  the  life  from  hostile  harm. 
Cool  care  may  kindly  keep  one  out  of  danger, 
On  guard  against  some  quite  too  roguish  ranger. 
Egyptians,  to  their   feasts,   invited   Death, 
Who  came,  in  gaunt  array  and  out  of  breath, 
And  grimly  gazed  amid  the  banquet  cheer 
To  warrant  them,  they  were  but  pilgrims  here. 
When  Roman  conquerors  made  triumphs  grand, 
The  slave  stood  by,  enjoined  with  this  command; 
To  whisper,    "Thou  art  mortal,"    to  the  ear 
And  quell  the  too  proud  triumph  with  the  fear. 
When  Gauls  besieging  climbed  her  hilly  dome, 
The  geese  of  Juno,  cackling,  once  saved  Rome. 

But  still  the  hour,  most  fit  to  deal  with  Death, 
Is  when  he  comes  to  take  away  the  breath ; 
Then,  checked  by  his  so  rare  unused  attention, 
We  quite  forget  all  apt  diverting  mention 
And  rused  remark  that  any  other  day, 
We  might  retort;    for  then  we  must  away. 
Goethe's  mother,  when  conscious  she  was  dying, 
Sent  brave  regrets  to  a  party,  relying 
On  her  presence;    he,  finding  Death's  valley 
Dark,  called  for  light  to  radiate  the  way. 
Heine,  prone  on  mattress-grave,  lived  for  years 
And  entertained   'the  Terror'   without  fears. 
One,*  of  another,  heard   'the  passing  bell,' 
Ran,  met  Death  and  gave  dying  life  a  spell. 
Gladiators  grim  by  full  applause  upheld, 
Saluted  all,  then  one  another  felled. 
Death,  to  the  Romans,  almost  ere  they  knew, 
A  wearisome  pastime  and  pleasure  grew. 

*  A  clergyman  ran  to  see  the  passing  away  of  a  friend,  who   recovered 
and  outlived  him. 


INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Early  Christians  were  rended,  mangled,  torn, 
Still  by  their  passionate  fierce  faith  upborne. 
Such  fancied  terrors  oft  have  followed  death, 
The  bravest  spirit  feared  to  lose  his  breath ; 
Who  neither  dared  to  stay,  nor  willed  to  go, 
Here  was  the  real  and  there  the  fancied  foe. 

II. 

One  turns  reluctant  to  an  endless  trance, 
When  quite  resolved  to  risk  a  life's  romance; 
When  called  untimely  at  some  busy  hour, 
While  flushed  with  all  the  exercise  of  power. 
One,  ardent  plans  anew  some  enterprise 
And  knows  of  naught  to  harm  him  anywise; 
But  prospects  planned  and  invitations,  all, 
The  swift  eventful  hour  may  rude  recall. 
Now  youth,  in  blushing  beauty  light  and  gay, 
Is  seized,  disarmed  of  charms  and  forced  away : 
Now  high  endowment,  disciplined  and  trained 
With  years  of  toil,  but  Fate  has  not  refrained. 
Grief,  ever  and  anon,  entwined  with  life. 
So  mixed  with  pleasure  pure  and  sweetest  strife, 
Gives  miserere  o'er  its  last  hushed  hour 
All  thought  profound  of  mournful,  moving  power. 

And  still  the  view-point,  proper,  just  and  fair, 

Seems  when  at  end  of  life  and  with  our  share 

Of  all  that  comes  by  kind  or  unkind  fate, 

We  best  sum  up  and  not  anticipate. 

All  things  diverse  it  brings :    to  these,  release 

From   suffering,  it  gives  the  end  in  peace ; 

To  those,  it  bears  an  anguish  of  regret 

To  leave  scenes  where  they  have  warm  welcome  met; 


THE   JOURNEY'S   END 

Where  the  brightness  and  the  gayety  of  earth 

Have  mingled  with  their  portion  joy  and  mirth. 

They  who  fall  ripe  and  ready  to  the  ground 

Crowns,  garlands,  honors  earned  and  rest  have  found. 

When  vital  forces,  unrelieved  are  spent 

And  low  in  last  bewailing  weakness  bent; 

When  full  outworn  and  ripened  to  decay, 

Life  then  resigns  with  ease  and  least  dismay; 

When  ears,  to  hearing  stopped,  are  sealed  almost, 

And  eyes  are  shut  to  sight  and  thin  as  ghost, 

A  prisoner,  within  his  own  stronghold, 

The  end  may  come  as  grateful  to  the  old; 

Ease  throbbing  sense,  ennui  and  cooling  vein, 

The  palsied  plight,  ear-trumpet  and  the  cane. 

We  know  the  incoherent,  hazard  hour, 

When  quietly  the  life  gives  up  its  dower; 

In  murmurs  low,  as  in  our  tranquil  dreams, 

The  soul  departs  and  sense  no  longer  gleams. 

One  day  we  ran  to  see  the  dying  die; 

We  rather  died  who  raised  the  mourner's  cry, 

When  viewing  vanished  life's  relentless  sleep, 

We  turned  aside  in  grief  alone  to  weep. 

But  dread  attendants,  both  in  war  and  peace, 
Seek  earth  to  give  to  mortals  this  release. 
Yet  spare  recital  of  these  ways  and  means 
That  innocence  itself  so  rarely  screens: 

As  when  the  cruel    'blow  of  mercy'    fell 

In  tortures  too  inhuman,  full  to  tell ; 

As  when  barred  Newgate's  victims  met  their  doom 

Saint  Sepulchre  sent  forth  its  ringing  boom. 

As  when  Germain's  tolled  tocsin  sounded  dread, 

From  all  the  towers  of  Paris,  overhead, 


INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Strokes  quickened  rang  mad  chiming  of  the  hour, 
That  signaled   Catherine's  crazed  wilful  power. 
In  all  the  royal  race  that  madly  ran, 
She,  the  crudest  furied  form  of  man. 
Such  terror  to  fair  France  then  came  to  view 
To  blast  the  dawn  of  Saint  Bartholomew  ;* 
When  myriad  torches  there  drove  back  the  day 
And  threw  o'er  darkest  deed  their  lurid  ray. 
Death  beat  the  drum  and  led  the  cavalcade 
To  the  far  darkened  realms  of  deepest  shade. 
Such  service  staunch,  to  rid  the  earth  of  man, 
His  ill  pent  passions  offer  as  they  can. 

The  idlest  motive  thought  and  impulse  here, 
Quite  oft  with  fateful  life  will  interfere. 
In  fatal  seasons,  gossamer  gives  warning 
With  some  veiled  vanity  of  dared  adorning. 
The  belle  beloved,  more  careful  of  her  pride, 
Too  soon  along  the  way  there  prone  will  ride. 
The  charms  of  life,  a  thousand  passions  master. 
They  love  speed  more,  who  rush  into  disaster. 
Blind  habit,  use  and  wont,  in  endless  ways, 
Drive  heedless  mortals  to  their  farewell  days. 
He,  strong  and  stalwart  in  his  manhood's  pride, 
Through  fire  and  smoke,  to  daring  Death  will  ride ; 
In  desperation,  plays  the  martyr's  role, 
Pleases  the  mob  nor  gains  of  fire  control. 
And  where  more  noble  thoughts  and  feelings  thrive, 
There  too,  life's  boat  upon  the  rocks  may  drive. 
Patriots,  stirred  by  love  of  country's  sway, 
Have  wished  like  Hale  for  lives  to  give  away ; 
Reckless,  when  noble  motives  move  the  mind. 
The  life  may  end  yet  honor  all  mankind. 

*  August  24,  1572. 


THE  JOURNEY'S   END  7 

III. 

Magic  marvels  of  music  have  been  told 

From  modern  to  more  ancient  days  of  old. 

The  cordial  charm  of  chanting  to  the  ear 

Conceals  the  dismal  dirge,  so  fraught  with  fear. 

So  pure  its  pathos,  in  dark  sorrow's  hour, 

Plato's  Republic*  feared  this  pulsing  power. 

So  much  of  dread  of  sounding  bell,  partook, 

One  of  the  Rheim's  Cathedral  pillars  shook. 

In  many  a  toned,  cacophanous  dull  round, 

Poor  mortals  have  found  Hegel's  hell  of  sound. 

Hunted  from  town  to  town  and  followed  long, 

Stradella  saved,  then  lost  his  life  with  song, 

His  soulful  music  soothed  the  savage  breast 

Till  two  more  savage  ruffians  did  the  rest. 

The  meLody,  tuneful,  true  and  tender  rang, 

When  Mozart  dying  his  own  requiem  sang : 

Then  borne  through  snow  and  hail,  his  body  thrown 

Careless,  to  be  forgot  and  left  unknown. 

To  lull  the  waters'  rage,  his  poems  ring, 

When  gondoliers  of  Venice  Tasso  sing, 

Till  far  and  near  the  echoes  proud  proclaim 

The  modern  magic  of  an  early  name. 

An  organ  sent  its  solemn  passion,  pealing 
Through  aisles  and  arches  no  source  revealing, 
And  mighty  minster's  viewless  waves  impelling, 
Impulsive  surging  and  full  boundless  swelling 
Spoke  things  scarce  utterable  to  the  ear, 
In  deeper  thoughts  than  would  in  words  appear. 
A  wanderer  entered,  to  this    'storm  of  sound,' 

*  Plato's  "Republic"  would  not  forbid  music,  as  is  said,   but  restrain   it. 
In  his  later  work,  "The  Laws,"  its  study  for  three  years  was  compulsory. 


INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Then  stood  in  rapture  tranced,  in  sweet  spell,  bound. 

Her  thought,  to  that  unknown  expanse  she  gave, 

Till  borne  beneath  its  deep  full  troubled  wave, 

Her  soul  expired  upon  the  thrilling  air 

And  left  sweet  life  itself,  a  forfeit  there. 

What  strange,  mysterious,  weird,  unworded  thing 

Could,  unto  living  soul,  such  rapture  bring? 

And  when,  from  lofty  mountains,  voices  born 
Of  wanton  winds,  rush  down  to  greet  the  morn 
And  drowsy  mortals  wake  with  glad  surprise, 
To  listen  to  an  anthem  from  the  skies, 
Then  quick,  their  wonderment  to  terror  turns, 
When  swift  the  raging  wind  with  anger  burns 
And,  sweeping  madly  forth  without  restraint, 
Brings  desolation,  waste  and  wailed  complaint. 
Philosophers  commend  with  sanest  thought, 
With  all  due  care,  and  cordial  courage  fraught, 
To  journey  on  life's  short  or  longer  way, 
The  hour's  discourse,  sufficient  for  the  day; 
To  find  in  each  brief  moment,  as  it  flies, 
The  full  advantage  that  an  age  supplies; 
Nor  see,  as  in  half  covert  darkness  dread, 
The  goblin  terrors  of  a  griffin's  head. 
To  hopeful  effort  turns  fair  wisdom's  trend, 
Nor  fearsome  with  affright   forbodes  the  end. 

Thrasea,*  when  he  grew  too  good  to  live, 
Showed  what  fortitude  character  could  give 
To  life's  last  hours ;    the  vestals'  living  tombs. 
Rarest,  saddest  and  dreadest  of  all  dooms ; 
For  vestals,  veiled  and  down  the  ladder  driven, 
On  service  scant,  then  starved  alone,  unshriven. 

*  Stoic  philosopher,  deceased  A.D.  66. 


THE  JOURNEY'S   END 


When  Pherecydes*  <?ame  to  his  decease, 

His  soul    "stood  up  and  looked  out  for  release." 

Seneca  stern  could  look  Death  in  the  face 

And  help  him  on  occasion  quicken  pace. 

To  hinder  him,  the  Stoics  would  not  bend : 

Nor  thought  they  he  was  something,  reverend. 

With  sturdy  resignation,  Stoics  sought 

To  journey  out  of  life  as  fearing  naught; 

Yet  calling  the  sage  moralist  around 

To  strengthen  them  to  voyage  outward  bound ; 

With  cheerfulness, 'and  not  with  gloom  oppressed, 

To  go,  as  forth  to  never  ending  rest. 

As  when  life  currently  suspends  in  sleep 

Its  weary  worn  strength  and  spent  passion,  deep 

And  slumbering,  unconscious  through  the  night, 

Resigns  the  day  and  recovers  it  with  light : 

Each  bravely  falls  asleep  and  thinks  it  naught, 

Nor  boasts  the  counter  courage  that  has  brought 

The  race  to  this  dread  daringness  of  action, 

To  die  and  daily  lose  from  life  a  fraction. 


*  Greek  theologian,  544  B.C.    The  first  known  writer  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul. 


IO  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX:    Part  II. 

In  whatsoever  clime :    A  master  known  and  great : 

In  Rome's  eternal  city :   Italy's  proud  martial  bands : 

Then  in  Florence :    Brothers  of  the  Misericordia : 

But  on  Venetian  ways :    Strains  of  Requiem : 

Scarce  stranger   scene:    Vesuvius  drank  deep: 

The  Mediterranean  floods  to  Europe's  doors : 

Upon  the  Guadarrama's  breast :    the  Escorial  lights : 

On  grim  Toledo's  hight :    Past  giant  gates : 

Far  on  the  Vega  where  the  Tagus  bends : 

Columbus  borne  from  Spain :    Neath  Seville's  dome : 

Beside  the  Bibarambla's  square :    Bells  of  grey  Granada 

The  burial  at  sea :    Out  upon  the  breaking  wave : 

Te  Deums  at  Leyden :    Undertones  of  sorrow : 

When  happy  truce  :    Winthrop  :    Lincoln. 


THE  BURIAL   TRAIN  II 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  II. 

The  Burial  Train: 


The  burial  train,  in  whatsoever  clime, 

Impresses  with  scenes  sombre  but  sublime. 

It  moves  with  tragic  step  and  pageant  pace, 

Reluctant,  silent,  slow  with  garnished  grace. 

Perchance  a  master,  widely  known  and  great, 

Is  borne  now  proudly  to  his  rest  in  state. 

The  nodding  plumes  of  martial  cavalcade 

Far  signal  more  than  pleasure's  promenade. 

The  soldiers'  sad  array  with  arms  reversed, 

The  emblems  dark  of  dignity  rehearsed, 

Impose  their  telling  tokens  of  regret, 

On  all  beholders,  living  thankful  yet, 

And  when  the  mournful  requiem  and  dirge 

Are  borne  in  waves  of  music  sweet  that  surge 

So  sadly  on  the  ear,  the  soul  with  power 

Feels  deep  the  touch  of  Death's  triumphal  hour. 

Who  but  inspired  has  heard  Beethoven's  March 

Enthrill  the  funeral  way  to  heaven's  arch, 

With  awe  and  grandeur  gloomed  and  full  profound 

To  silence  still  the  multitude  around? 

There,  far  in  Rome's  eternal  city  bowed, 

How  did  Death's  train  the  narrow  Corso  crowd ! 

Soldiers  compact  in  gleaming  grim  array, 

In  columns,  rhythmic  with  successive  sway; 

With  banners  bright  that  moved  but  scarcely  waved, 

Expressing  grief,  subdued  or  stoutly  braved ; 

Civilians  in  their  orders,  draped  diverse, 


12  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Earth's  memorials  in  rare   rich   rehearse. 
What  sumptuous  elements  of  Rome's  woe 
That  furled  funereal  day  saw  come  and  go ! 

Crowding  the  Corso,  people  fast  convene 

And  when  the  cortege  drawing  near  is  seen, 

With  brows  bared  clear  and  air  of  silence,  meet, 

They  all  with  sympathy  attentive  greet; 

Then  Italy's  proud  martial  music  bands 

Subdued  way  wanderers  from  other  lands, 

As  with  deep,  minor  wailing,  saddened  cry, 

They  filed,  in  tuneful,  sweet  succession  by. 

So  grandly  to  the  bourne  of  last  repose, 

One  more  of  Bonaparte's*   famed  lineage  goes. 

Jn  Florence  brothers,  hooded  close  and  corded, 
All  pitiful  of  misery  and  rewarded 
By  virtue,  she  herself  alone  repaying, 
Oft  traverse  there,  wherever  woe  is  staying, 
And  Death  ward  off  or  speedy  drive  away : 
If  not,  all  gowned  in  black  another  day, 
Poising  aloft  some  body  in  the  air, 
Forth  for  the  burial,  reverent  they  repair : 
Their  full  enshrouded  and  head-hooded  forms, 
Appearing  on  days  fair  or  dark  with  storms, 
Walk  frequent,  weird  along  the  public  ways 
And  scarce  on  stranger  sight  do  travelers  gaze. 
When  darkness  overspreads  the  night  with  gloom, 
They  come  with  fiery  torches  to  illume; 
Forward  and  backward  throw  the  darting  ray 
And  make  return  the  brightness  of  the  day. 
Flowers  gleaming  their  fair  ripe  radiance  fling 

*  Prince  Napoleon,  son  of  Jerome  Bonaparte,  died  in  Rome,  March  17,  1891. 


THE  BURIAL  TRAIN  13 

And  rhythmic  footsteps  on  the  pavement  ring  : 
The  tenderness,  the  beauty  of  such  scenes 
Would  make  forgot  the  pathos  that  it  means. 

But  on  Venetian  ways,  no  martial  tread, 
No  slow  terrestrial  march ;    but  there  instead, 
Where  gondola,  upon  the  waves'  smooth  floor, 
Stands  like  the  horse  tied,  waiting  at  the  door, 
Far  gleaming  o'er  the  waters  waves  and  large, 
Past  graceful  gondolas,  the  mourning  barge 
Speeds  up  along  the  grand  canal  to  bear 
Fate's  woful  emblems,  furled  for  life's  last  fare: 
The  gorgeous  prow  uprears  its  splendors  high, 
Not  misery  now  but  majesty  glides  by. 
And  dirgeful  strains  of  requiem  and  song 
Sound  wailing  forth,  as  wafting  it  along, 
It  seeks  the  Rialto's  bluff  returning  tide 
And  soon   in   farther  distance   it  will   hide. 
The  echoed  tones  fall  sweetly  on  the  ear, 
Till  faintly,  sound  and  sight,  both  disappear, 
And  naught  is  left  but  ripple  of  the  waves 
That  close  so  smoothly  o'er  the  water's  graves. 

II. 

Scarce  stranger  scene  to  view  beneath  fair  skies, 

Than  where,  once  famed  and  proud,  Pompeii  lies. 

There  memories  of  ancient  peoples  dwell 

And  moaning  waves  of  yonder  sirens  tell. 

Deep  danger's  haven-home,  where  earth's  thin  crust 

Harbors  confidence,  doubtful  with  distrust. 

A  throng  of  time-worn  vestiges  survive 

And  keep  the   fairy  prospect   still   alive. 

It  looks  to  Posilippo,  o'er  the  bay, 


14  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

And  clear  to  cool  Sorrento's  cliffs  by  day 

And  darkling  dread,  now  flaming  upward  bright, 

Vesuvius  portends,  sublime  with  fitful  light. 

And  down  its  sunny  sides  gnarled  furnaced  rock 

Tells  of  volcano  and  of  earthquake  shock. 

Surviving  merry  minstrels  of  those  days 

Now  tranquilize  these  terrors  of  the  ways. 

Between  the  fire  and  flood,  the  city  lay, 

Until  Vesuvius  void  drank  deep  one  day 

And  taking  draughts  too  briny,  flung  her  yield 

Of  fuel  forth  upon  Pompeii's  field ; 

Of  all  the  living  there,  some  thousands  fled 

From  fumes  and  flames  and  horrors  of  the  dead ; 

Entombed  in  molten  dust  and  ashen  shrouds, 

That  fell,  far  flaming  from  the  mountain  clouds. 

Pompeii,  on  her  now  new  risen  morn, 

Sees  no  new  life  her  narrow  ways  adorn; 

In  silenced  streets  bereaved,  her  life  is  spent, 

All  disentombed,  she  stands  a  monument. 

And  where  the  Mediterranean  pours  blue 

Along  the  base  and  floods  to  Europe's  view, 

To  water's  edge  Massilia  comes,  and  there 

All  nations  course  and  crowd  the  Cannebiere. 

The  Spanish  Main  fair  noble  people  hold : — 

Cordova,  native  home  of  Seneca :    of  old, 

A  fairy  land  as  pleasing  as  a  dream, 

Still  throwing  sixteen  arches  o'er  a  stream — 

A  Stoic,  virile  gifted  regal  race, 

Whose  manly  merits  feature  forth  the  face, 

That  Basques  and  Berbers,  Goths  and  Vandals  bold 

And  steel-clad  legions,  armed  from  Rome's  stronghold, 

Have  moulded  with  the  Moors  from  Arab  sands 


THE  BURIAL  TRAIN  1 5 

And  enemies,  made  friends  from  other  lands. 
Where   woman   in   mantilla   walks   in   state 
And  love  low  whispers  at  the  window-grate.* 
They  come  and  go  to  reach  life's  journey's  end, 
Then  masses  for  their  souls  with  prayers  attend. 
Their  kings,  Alphonsos  now,  will  find  life's   rest 
Upon  the  Guadarrama's  mountain  breast, 
Where  gleam  the  Escorial's  gilded  lights 
And  templed  tombs,  arrayed  for  royal  rites ; 
The  marbled  catacomb  of  Philip's  pride, 
Majestic,  grouped  on  grey  Sierra's  side, 
Where  vistas  stretch  in  solitudes  away 
And  grandeurs  gloss  the  emblems  of  decay. 

And  where  the  melancholy  cypress  stands, 
On  far  Granada's  or  Valencia's  strands, 
Where  armed,  the  cactus  roughly  wards  the  way 
And  wild,  the  oleander  plumes  the  day, 
Dark  banners  wave  their  shadows  to  the  night. 
And  there,  on  grim  and  grey  Toledo's  hight, 
Whose  evening  lights  above  far  shining  gleam 
Upon  Alcantara's  arches  and  the  stream, 
Some  love-linked  line,  meandering  along, 
Silent  follows  the  priests'  low  chanted  song; 
Whose  minor  mournful,  brave  bewailing  cry- 
Sends  forth  funereal  murmurs,  passing  by. 
Life  surges  with  it  through  the  Zocodover, 
Coming  from  sky-lit,  full-squared  patios  there, 
And  every  step,  upon  the  beaten  track, 
Leaves  Arab,  Goth  and  Vandal  at  the  back; 
Past  giant  gates,  Puertas  of  the  clime, 

*The  lover  outside  talks  through  the  grilled  bars.    They  call  this  "eating 
iron  ";  it  has  that  appearance. 


1 6  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

The  Moors  had  reared  in  their  more  artful  time ; 

Past  altars  hoar,  still  golden  gray  and  proud 

With  massive  walls  and  shrines  with  age  endowed. 

Then,  all  along  the  stricken  city's  ways, 

Rude  ranks  uncover  and  respectful  gaze, 

As  slow  descending,  still  the  pathway  wends 

Far  on  the  Vega  where  the  Tagus  bends 

And,  through  the  greensward  meadows  of  the  plain, 

Unwinds  mysterious,  onward  to  the  main ; 

Then  tasks  resume,  the  sun  goes  reddened  down, 

The  evening  stillness  falls  upon  the  town, 

Till  weary  watchmen,  late  returning,  tell 

To  households  sleeping  light  that    'all  is  well.' 

•  The  stranger  strides  across  the  Spanish  moor, 
From  low  to  high  lands,  where  the  plain  is  poor, 
But  grateful  for  the  gorse  and  cedars  bare 
That  clothe  its  nakedness,  stripped  barren  there. 
Then,  through  the  vista  of  the  long  gray  aisle 
That  reaches  to  the  rocky  grim  defile, 
Appears  the  early  sanctum  of  the  Cid ; 
Where  he,  departing  life,  in  death  was  hid, 
First,  set  upon  his  battle-steed  upright, 
Armed  cap-a-pie  and  aweful  to  the  sight. 
Foes  feared  his  terror,  as  he  stood  at  bay, 
And  held  in  death  his  sword  to  clear  the  way.* 
His  might,  o'ermastered  by  slow-timed  decay, 
Is  shown  in  globules,  amber  bright  to-day, 
That  rest  in  archives  on  the  Espolon,f 
The  ruler,  warrior,  champion,  all  in  one. 

Cervantes'  self  seems  everywhere  alive ; 
For  here  and  there  a  hundred  places  thrive 

*  From  Valencia  to  Burgos  ;  such  the  legend.    +  Chief  street  of  Burgos. 


THE   BURIAL   TRAIN  1 7 

Upon  his  name :    Toledo,  off  the  square, 
For  Miguel  haunted  once  the  Zocodover. 
And  though  the  sun  dries  up  the  watersheds 
Of  rivers,  truant  from  their  vacant  beds. 
There  still,  the  traveler  may  cool  his  breath, 
Amazed  at  groves  and  gardens  of  Aranjuez. 

Columbus,  borne  from  Spain,  in  Cuba  lies, 

As  back  and  forth  his  lifeless  body  flies, 

Till  'neath  Seville's  bold,  lofty  daring  dome, 

He  finds  a  last  and  more  consanguine  home.* 

Friends  and  upholders  of  his  mighty  quest, 

King  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  blue-eyed  rest 

Beside  the  Bibarambla's  busy  square, 

Whose  perfumes,  fruits  and  flowers  fan  the  air; 

Here   from  Alhambra's  green-groved,  heaven  hights, 

The  Moor  took  joyful  centuries  of  delights. 

Where  towers  time-stained,  in  majesty  arise, 

And  add  their  grace  to  the  glory  of  the  skies ; 

Then  when  the  bells  of  grey  Granada  chime 

And  silvery  echoes  fling  to  softer  clime, 

These  echoes  charm  the  lulled  listening  ear 

Like  serenadings  from  some  stellar  sphere. 

III. 

Still  other  and  too  sad  for  woful  word 

And  yet  the  same ;    of  this,  far  more  have  heard 

Than  seen,  when  stripped  of  earth's  adorning  gauds, 

Sea-burial  deep  too  painfully  rewards 

And  mournful  meets  nor  entertains  the  eye : 

For  there  no  requiem's  wail,  no  stifled  cry, 

No  grandeur  proud,  no  music  swelling  sweet, 

Distracts  the  ear  and  mourner  comes  to  greet. 

*  A  son  of  Columbus,  Ferdinand,  is  buried  under  the  cathedral  floor. 


1 8  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Full  ballasted,   companionless   and  prone, 
Forth  flies  the  traveler,  wandering  alone, 
Flung  boldly  out  upon  the  breaking  wave 
And  none  pitying  plunges  in  to  save. 

In  days  of  Alva  and  of  Philip's  rule, 

Before  the  uprise  of  fair  Leyden's  school, 

Without  the  dykes,  armed  ships  and  cannon  lay; 

Within,  famine  and  pestilence  at  bay. 

But  e'en  things  warlike  end,  and  to  be  brief, 

There  came  to  Leyden  most  divine  relief. 

Then  joyful,  when  the  besieging  army  left, 

In  the  Cathedral  gathered  all  those  bereft, 

To  chant  aloud,  thanks  and  Te  Deums  give 

That  they  and  their  loved  city  still  did  live. 

The  organ  then  pealed  forth  with  strains  victorious 

Anthems  of  gladness  rose  rejoicing,  glorious; 

But  undertones  of  sorrow,  deeper  stirred, 

In  sadder  moans  and  wails  of  woe  were  heard, 

That  turned  the  praising  paeans  to  despair 

And  sobs  and  lamentations  filled  the  air. 

When  happy  truce  had  closed  the  cannon's  mouth 
And  joy  dawned  welcome  upon  North  and  South 
And  Sabbath  brought  its  restful  rare  repose 
To  armies,  future  friends  nor  longer  foes, 
In  sacred  house  this  present  peace  descended 
And  voices  in  far  fair  Carolina  blended 
In  praise:   and  there,  when  thankful  song  grew  lack, 
There  too,  the  women  wept,  all  robed  in  black. 

The  hour  fell  dark  amid  the  brightest  day, 
When  Winthrop,  from  earth's  sight,  we  bore  away 
With  manly  line  and  dirge  and  grim  steeds  sad 


THE  BURIAL   TRAIN  1 9 

And  martial  bands,  none  wishing  to  be  glad. 
Farewell  was  spoken  low  on  hallowed  ground, 
The  cannon  boomed  its  muttered  peal  profound, 
Such  was  the  rendering  of  life's  drear  duty 
On  that  sore  shrouded  day*  in  June's  bright  beauty. 

Faithful  and  true  to  patriotic  law, 

Wef  joined  our  grief,  the  saddest  day  we  saw 

On  Guilford,  dimly  rise  and  darkly  set; 

Mourning  for  one,  whom  few  had  ever  met, 

Though  some  had  seen  across  the  rostrom'd  hall 

And  heard  the  voice,  so  clear  with  cogent  call 

To  spur  their  waiting  thought  with  motive  right, 

As  on  he  passed  to  work  of  greater  might. 

His  form  commanding,  we  remember  well 

The  manly  tone  and  turn,  though  naught  may  tell. 

And  that,  to  keep  in  converse  matters  not, 

If  the  inspiration  only,  be  not  forgot. 

The  figure  firm,  from  which  he  flung  an  arm, 

At  leisure,  and  spoke  brave  without  alarm, 

After  long  years,  that  day  had  reached  its  rest. 

And  every  man  and  child  alive  here  blest 

Sad  Lincoln's  faithful,  true  and  martyred  heart 

And  all,  in  its  bowed  burial,  took  part. 

A  full  bewailing  group  then  gathered  round 

In  sore  and  sympathetic  sorrow  bound, 

To  concentrate  and  join  in  one  their  grief 

And  by  uniting  it,  thus  find  relief. 

On  our  loved  guarded  Green,  most  sacred  spot, 
Where  sleep  our  sires,  unknown  but  not  forgot, 
We  joined  that  woful  tryst  in  densest  ranks, 
So  filled  with  rare  regret  and  grateful  thanks ; 

*  June  21,  1861.    t  12  m.  April  19,  1865. 
2* 


20  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Then,  moving  forth  with  silent  step  and  slow, 
With  heads,  in  rapt  reflection,  bended  low, 
In  village  host,  to  that  arched  altared  place, 
Where  oft  we  bow  to  God  and  lift  for  grace 
Our  thoughts,  expressed  in  deep  sincere  desires, 
We  rallied  us,  as  peoples,  pastors,  choirs; 
Rehearsed  our  requiem  and  song  of  rest, 
Relieved  each  other's  hearts  with  grief  oppressed, 
In  supplication,  poured  our  sorrow  out, 
Then,  to  the  unknown  future,  turned  about. 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  III. 


22  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX  :    Part  III. 

The  unconscious  struggle :    Indices  of  sorrow : 

True  or  fancied  evils :    All  watching  close : 

Paragon  of  right :    With  alarming  features  : 

Fancied  ills :    Spiteful  ache :    Souls  to  sell : 

Strange  enigma :    Striving  upward  : 

Pressure  of  populace :    Mad  with  hope : 

'The  conscience  of  the  earth' :  Where  Saint  Teresa  dwelt ; 

Solemn  temple's  starlit  vale :    Two  islands  in  Hibernia : 

Life's  deep  meaningness :    Scarce  consenting,  we  abide : 

A  'punishment  tour' :    Indemnity  for  earth's  discipline : 

Crafty  man  :    Idealisms  :    Cynics,   a   few  : 

Feigned  learning :    Love  of   fancy  and  ideal. 


THE  PATHOS   OF  THE  PAST  23 

INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY  :    PART  III. 

The  Pathos  of  the  Past: 


What  gives  appealing  pathos  to  the  past? 

Does  it  illustrate  Fate  to  us  at  last, 

The  finished  end,  the  sundering  of  ties 

With  all  that  dear  in  life  and  Nature  lies? 

Is  the  unconscious  struggle  of  the  now 

Out  into  clear  perspective  thrown,  somehow 

And  touching  deeply  the  reflective  humor, 

Brings  knowledge  out  that  had  been  only  rumor? 

Is  it  the  sweet  loved  instinct  of  the  life, 

That  shuns  the  end  and  still  prefers  the  strife? 

Shall  we  untroubled  to  the  future  give 

The  pathos  pure  we  know  not  while  we  live? 

If  some  observant,  more  among  the  masses, 

Have  found  poor  Nature  out,  have  yet  the  classes? 

Do  they  know,  as  well  as  these  other  creatures, 

The  blemishes,  so  woful  in  life's  features? 

Would  legion  presents  fill  the  dim  hoar  past 

And  light  upon  its  pains  and  perils  cast? 

The  combat,  the  arena,  war,  despair, 

Mere  indices  of  greater  sorrows  there? 

What  horrors  dark  their  spectre  shadows  throw 

Upon  the  world's  sad  history  below ! 

Whose  groans  and  tears  abundant  drive  man  still 

To  mend  the  terrors  of  prevailing  ill 

And  press  the  last  resources  of  the  mind, 

At  any  hazards,  to  redeem  mankind. 

Just  reason  even  would  itself  dethrone 


24  INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY 

To  lift  his  human  zeal  to  higher  zone. 
Through  vast,  opposing  forces,  he  has  still, 
Despite  the  odds  of  his  own  froward  will, 
Emblazed  his  tortuous  triumphant  way 
To  see  pledged  prospects  of  a  better  day. 
But  slowly  upward  do  the  ages  move, 
So  bold  and  dread,  the  difficulties  prove ; 
Each  does  its  arduous  little  to  attain 
The  hights  that  still  there  heavenly  remain. 

How  could  environments  the  life  surround 
With  true  or  fancied  evils  more  profound? 
Nature  observe,  whose  careless  powers  harm, 
Terrorize,  smite  and  slay,  while  yet  they  charm. 
Pestilence,  famine,  fire  and  fatal  scourge, 
Tornado  and  ill-tempered  winds'  drear  dirge. 
And  if  one  ventures  out  of  sight  of  strand, 
Forgetting — "praise  the  sea,  but  keep  on  land" — 
There  storms  sweep  whirling  and  tossed  troubled  waves 
Entomb  the  living  in  lost  sea-deep  graves. 

In  such  a  world  of  elements,  so  rude, 
Rough-handed  one  should  be  to  dare  intrude, 
To  hold  his  own  'twixt  enemies  around, 
All  watching  close  to  catch  him  out  of  bound. 
How  could  man  living  make  his  rugged  way, 
As  white,  black,  European  or  Malay, 
Not  able,  constantly  to  prove  his  might, 
By  very  forcibly  putting  up  a  fight? 
Grant  him  the  very  paragon  of  right 
Rectitude  and  reason,  must  he  not  fight? 
Passions  of  earth  and  sky,  to  quell  and  rule 
And  himself,  far  more  difficult  to  school? 
Who  after  cycles  of  this  armed  attrition 


THE   PATHOS   OF  THE   PAST  25 

Still  savage,  rough,  remains  in  crude  condition; 
Feared,  as  the  very  constable  of  Fate, 
By  creatures,  capable  of  love  and  hate. 
Whose  spoiling  is  his  pleasure,  pastime,  forte, 
And  harming  to  their  life  his  playful  sport. 
So  generous  to  give  of  life,  an  hour, 
Then  presently,  turn  ready  to  devour. 
See  him  not  stilled  to  peace  but  stirred  to  war 
Beneath   dread  Nature's   sad  supremest  law. 
More  skilled  to  make  man  dare  to  die  than  live 
And  these  foul  facts  all  Nature's  lessons  give. 

What  strange,  articulated,  curious  creatures 
With  now  charming  and  now  alarming  features ! 
With  constant  strife  and  carnage,  serving  Death 
And  seek  to  take  away  each  other's  breath, 
But  on  pure  ethic,  economic  grounds, 
The  press  of  populace  on  common  bounds ! 
Before  all  gods  leads  first  the  god  of  war; 
But  scarce  less  costly  are  victories  at  law, 
That  peerless  phrase  the    "majesty  of  law," 
Is  but  the  synonym  for  right  of  war, 
Whose  proud,  stored  trophies  skillfully  reveal 
The  human  horrors  peace  does  not  conceal. 

What  is  man's  progress  but  a  hazard  motion 

'Gainst  fickle  winds  adverse  upon  an  ocean? 

Here  a  wider,  there  a  more  narrow  range, 

The  gold  and  silver  glimmer  of  exchange; 

A  skillful  voyaging  farther  from  content, 

In  circles  that  enlarge  that  we  invent : 

Crusades  and  Thors  that  come  when  times  are  ripe, 

Once  Marco  Polo  and  Columbus  were  the  type. 

In  this  swift  day,  we  have  renewed  the  notion 


26  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

That  progress  is  not  in  but  outward  motion ; 

And  wheeled  advance,  when  wheels  themselves  run  mad, 

Turns  skidding,  sudden  stops,  sharp,  poignant,  sad ; 

While  snail-paced  traveler  less  by  phrensy  pressed, 

Reaches  too  soon  the  self-same  vale  of  rest. 

Enigma  strange!    unique,  unfathomed  elf, 

Striving  upward — thus  thinks  he  of  himself; 

Who  differs  from  all  animals,  made  dumb, 

In  divers  ways,  but  matchless  in  the  thumb ! 

And  when  this  savage  inward  turns  his  passion 

And  puts  his  outward  image  in  last  fashion, 

His  very  clothes  misfit,  his  shoes  are  tight : 

Day's  doings  keep  him  wakeful  in  the  night. 

Drill,  mould  and  moralize  howe'er  we  will, 

Man  is,  despite  himself,  a  savage  still; 

For  where  new  virtues,  proud  and  lofty  ride, 

Old  evils  still  remain  to  pinch  his  pride. 

Suspicion  now  sits  down  on  judgment's  throne 
And  argues  it  from  ignorance,  alone ; 
Jealousy,  born  of  love  of  human  kind, 
Works  in  its  painful  passion  on  the  mind : 
While  fancied  ills  and  spiteful  real  ache 
A  precious  part  of  life's  enjoyment  take. 
How  the  catalogue  of  evils,  endless,  tell 
Of  folly,  grievance,  wrong  and  souls  to  sell  ? 
And  this  the  life  and  law  of  pervert  powers, 
By  fate  foredoomed  to  shadow  shining  hours, 
To  wretched  mortals  long,  to  happy  short, 
As  Fate  has  fair  or  fickle  fortune  brought. 
We  read  of  Greek  decline  and  hear  the  moan 
Of  Hellas  when  "Miletus  learned  to  groan."* 

*  Destroyed  by  the  Persians  in  the  fifth  century. 


THE   PATHOS   OF  THE   PAST  27 

II. 

But  such  is  life,  primeval  Greek  or  Doric, 

Still  struggling  forward,  backward,  long  historic; 

Esteemed  progressive  from  that  dawning  state 

When  human  prospects  rose  'twixt  love  and  hate. 

How  could  man  live  a  life,  howe'er  select, 

Did  not  bad  cause  turn  out  to  good  effect? 

All  mindful  of  the  past,  but  mad  with  hope, 

Man  can  aspire  and  still  with  evils  cope; 

And  while  to  evil  ways  he  must  incline, 

At  intervals,  can  call  himself  divine. 

And  true,  this  odd  but  gifted  Godlike  creature 

Who  knows  his  many  an  alarming  feature, 

Who  must  with  terrors  awe  and  oft  affright 

Enemies  and  friends  and  must  as  frequent  smite 

His  way  along,  has  faculties,  if  will, 

For  better  things  with  longer  use  and  drill. 

This  is  the  status  then  with  which  he  copes 

Who  thinks  to  see  afar  heroic  hopes, 

To  cheer  and  carry  through  the  life's  short  trance 

The  emblems  of  some  due  inheritance : 

When,  from  mysterious,  rude  barbarous  birth, 

He  comes  to  be  the   "conscience  of  the  earth." 

For  lofty  souls  have  lived  and  life  relieved, 
Whose  noble  heritage  earth  rich  received ; 
And  curious  travelers  still  thoughtful  stray 
To  learn  new  lessons  from  that  elder  day. 
Think  ye  no  virtues  fair  gave  force  to  arms 
That  reared  the  massive  vast  cathedral's  charms? 
For  virtues  vast  inspired  their  mighty  craft, 
While  winds  through  centuries  their  breezes  waft, 
As  slow  and  sure,  the  sacred  pile  uprears 
With  majesty  to  solace  human  fears. 


28  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Where  Saint  Teresa  dwelt  on  hills  rockbound 
That  Avila,  dominant  walls  high  around, 
There  pilgrims  go  with  reverent  awed  approach, 
Where  shadows  dwell,  and  shades  on  shades  encroach  ;* 
Where,  through  the  solemn  temple's  star-lit  vale, 
The  priests'  low  chanting  thrills  the  echoing  pale; 
Then  visions  come  of  life  of  other  days 
And  light  the  sombre  sanctum  with  their  rays : 
Then  rise  the  holy  spirits  of  the  just, 
Up  through  the  massive  pavements  from  the  dust 
And  glorious  walk  along  the  ways  sublime, 
The  mystic  presence  of  that  trustful  time ! 

There  too  in  monastery,!  where  have  stood, 

Monks  in  their  sandals,  capes  and  coy  cowled  hood, 

Where  princely  Juan  studied  and  then  died, 

Entombed  illustrious  through  Isabella's  pride, 

They  guard  the  gilded  lettered  sacred  page 

Of  time-worn  treasures,  dignified  with  age ; 

Where  skillful  scribes  employed  their  cunning  care 

On  precious  precepts  that  comfort  in  despair. 

E'en  virtue's  own  excesses  are  the  crime 

That  stains  the  olden  story  of  this  clime. 

The  love  of  country  blemished  grey  Granada 

And  faith's  own  self  went  mad  in  Torquemada. 

As  cords  that  stretched  from  lofty  tower,  scarce  show, 

Yet  tell  of  wailing  winds  that  o'er  them  blow ; 

As  harps  JEolian,  soft  with  music  swell, 

When  zephyrs  fan  them,  flying  through  the  dell, 

The  souls  of  mortal  men  are  tuned  and  stirred 

To  vibrant  voices  and  fair  faith  deferred 

Divines  the  undue  destiny  that  time 

Shall  bring,  unfolding  to  its  coming  clime. 

*  No  'dim  religious  light'  so  aweing  as  that  in  Avila  cathedral, 
t  Santa  Toma  of  Avila.     The  grave  of  Torquemada  is  there. 


THE   PATHOS   OF  THE   PAST  29 

Two  islands*  in  Hibernia  hidden  lay. 
Death  never  into  one  had  found  his  way; 
But  age  and  weariness  of  life  came  there 
And  suffering :    and  soon  the  people's  prayer 
Begged  to  be  banished  from  this  island  blest, 
Longing  to  know  the  other  island's  rest; 
They  crossed  the  waters  to  the  other  shore, 
Its  harbor  reached  and  sorrows  knew  no  more. 
Thus,  grant  that  generations  have  no  ending, 
See  what  disaster  then  comes,  fast  impending  i 
For  life  itself  becomes  more  pressing  pathos, 
Far  better  mountains  fall  on  us,  as  Athos. 
Words  faint  and  falter  on  the  tongue  to  tell 
Life's  full,  deep  meaningness  here,  ill  or  well ; 
The  shifting  hazards  of  its  happy  hopes, 
The  reaching  ranges  of  its  wondrous  scopes ; 
The  pathos  pure  of  struggles,  weak  or  bold, 
The  ever  present  contests,  worlds  behold, 
While,  on  and  on,  the  drifting  ages  flow 
And  leave  the  multitude  submerged  below. 

Yet  is  life  luscious  with  abundant  joy 

In  all  rich  things  that  sense  and  taste  employ; 

Where  ecstacies  and  raptures  lift  the  soul, 

And  dark  sublimities  before  it  roll ; 

Where  forms  of  beauty  entertain  the  sense 

And  the  world's  wonders  pique  intelligence 

And  curious  and  scentful  secrets  hide, 

In  realms  where,  scarce  consenting,  we  abide. 

The  art  that  throws  its  power  and  grandeur  round, 
And  overawes,  where  will  and  wealth  abound, 
The  courtly  charm  that  skill  and  science  lend, 

*  In  Munster;  Camden. 


30  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Where  earth's  best  life  and  glory  most  pretend, 
These  all  unite  and  press  upon  the  sense 
The  wondrous  features  of  life's  recompense. 
And  more,  where  human  virtues  well  contrive 
To  reach  some  vantage  coign,  where  virtues  thrive, 
Still  more,  the  upward  aim  at  things  not  near, 
Shows,  greater,  grander  prospects  to  appear. 
So,  should  man  reach  that  harvest-haven  here, 
How  would  it  more  this  mortal  life  endear! 

III. 

Howe'er  we  count  and  list  upon  the  page 

Some  promises,  the  hopeful  hours  presage, 

Howe'er  the  sweets  of  future  feigned  allure, 

The  days  oft  pass  like  a  "punishment  tour";* 

To  draw  the  breath  and  catch  but  aches  and  pains 

Gives  quite  too  bitter  anguish  for  the  gains. 

To  find  how  brief  and  fickle  thing  is  joy, 

That  pleasure  oft  repeated  will  annoy ; 

That  spirit,  feeling,  senses  work  and  wear 

Till,  from  their  doomed  delights,  we  must  forbear 

And  failing  powers,  all  gently  though  it  be, 

Do  well  consent  to  leave  earth's  ecstacy. 

A  tribute  then  to  life,  he  witless  pays, 

Who  would  in  aches  and  pains  prolong  his  days 

And  still  prefers  to  live  with  discontent, 

Than  to  repose  beneath  a  monument. 

Among  the  living  walk  unburied  dead, 

From  whom  the  joy  and  cheer  of  life  have  fled. 

And  they  in  dismal  darkened  shades  concealed, 

*  Peculiar  to  West  Point.     Marching  with  musket  for  penance. 


THE   PATHOS   OF  THE  PAST  31 

Are,  in  their  melancholy,  more  revealed. 

These  feel  life's  hours  are  scarcely  to  be  borne, 

When  all  its  dear  sweet  pleasures  are  outworn; 

Those  find  life  pall  and  fall  into  contempt 

When,  from  its  toils  and  cares,  they  are  exempt. 

Both  firm  demand  in  recompense  of  ill, 

Indemnity  for  earth's  discipline  and  drill. 

Thus  crafty,  chaffering,  commercial  man 

Would  drive  poor  Nature  to  bargain  if  he  can : 

Or,  should  we  say,  his  love  of  the  ideal 

Provokes  him  to  perfection  of  the  real? 

So  forth  idealisms  madly  with  us  run 

To  postulate  new  life,  not  yet  begun 

And  like  post-obit  promises  to  pay. 

Transfer  the  prospects  to  some  future  day. 

This  toilsome  bounteous  life,  now  sad,  now  gay, 

A  festival,  lived  and  loved,  how  say  nay 

To  the  infinite  pathos  of  these  hopes, 

With  which  the  reason  all  too  feebly  copes? 

But  clear  divides  the  line  of  conscious  thought 

Between  philosophies  that  time  has  brought 

To  bear  upon  terrestrial  weal  and  woe 

And  guide  us  with  some  fortitude  to  go. 

The  world,  with  sharp  derision,  some  would  scorn, 

Abandon  flat,  nor  mention  but  to  warn. 

Here,  in  the  mean,  bemoaning  the  ordeal, 

They  seek  yet  shun  the  world  and  scorn  the  real : 

Idealize,  uplift  them  to  the  skies 

And  longing,  wait  to  meet  what  glad  surprise? 

As  when  with  culture,  cramped  nor  well  refining, 

We  break  the  heart  and  drive  it  to  repining; 

As  when,  within  us,  feeling  morbid  dwells 

And  frightened  fancy,  of  feigned  evils,  tells. 


32  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

For  history  and  worn  experience  teach 
How  far  infections  and  disorders  reach ; 
What  whimsies  of  the  morbid  brain  appear 
And  enter  the  emotional  open  ear! 
These  whatever,  sad  mortals  may  amuse 
As  do  Saint  Vitus  dancers,  square-toed  shoes. 

If  Eleatics  join  and  like  them  flow  on 

With  common  flux  of  things,  where  all  is  one, 

Being  or  being  not — still  in  the  struggle 

'Twixt  lights  and  shades  of  thought,  words  will  juggle; 

Zeno,  Parmenides,  both  pre-Socratic, 

Lords  of  thought  profound  and  of  wisdom  Attic, 

When  now  to-day,  hope  buoyant  pilots  through, 

Hope  makes  the  difference  'twixt  us  and  you. 

Eclectics,  Stoics,  Socratic  and  the  Jew 

Mohammed,  Confucius,  Cynics  too,  a  few, 

Among  the  varied  minds  and  tempers  here 

Proffer  us  concepts,  more  or  less  sincere ; 

For,  when  we  come  to  products  such  as  thought, 

That  is  thought  best  which  can  be  sold  and  bought ; 

Though  scarce  the  thought  for  payment  will  atone, 

While  yet  we  throw  X-rays  clear  through  a  stone. 

Joyless  judgments  of  wisdom,  that  conflict. 

Themselves,  from  age  to  age,  they  contradict ; 

For  simply  to  discern  the  how  men  think 

Compels  us  often  at  their  thought  to  blink. 

Alas !    that  honest  candor  is  so  rare, 

We  have  with  it  near  nothing  to  compare. 

From  much  feigned  learning  let  us  then  refrain 

And  rather  in  unknowingness  remain. 

What  matter  policies  that  so  pretend 

And  even  our  crass  ignorance  offend? 


THE   PATHOS   OF   THE  PAST  33 

The  past,  with  its  thin  skeleton  array 

Of  active  forces  that  bore  living  sway, 

Now  gone,  beyond  redeem,  could  ill  survive 

And  dwell  in  peace  with  forces,  now  alive. 

Sharp  severed  but  around  us  lies  the  past, 

Whose  spent  devotion  and  whose  works  still  last; 

Much,  as  our  tribute  from  it  rich  contains, 

Much  of  its  storied  ignorance  remains. 

We,  of  the  present,  look  it  in  the  face, 

To  copy  its  outworn,  persistent  grace, 

Its  fears  repeat,  its  cherished  hopes  revive, 

To  keep  our  blind  activities  alive. 

The  present,  to  the  future,  plays  the  past 

And  can  but  make  it  heir-at-law  at  last ; 

Endow  it  with  outworn  and  wayward  notions 

To  raise  its  innocent,  fair  fresh  devotions. 

Would  we,  then,  of  fancy  be  undeceived 
And,  of  all  sweet  fond  dreaming,  be  relieved? 
So  keep  the  line  between  the  fact  and  seeming 
And   recognize  plain  principles  in   dreaming? 
How  could  all  fancies  be  alike  controlled, 
Intelligences,  run  in  the  same  mould? 
With  all  our  love  of  fancy  and  ideal, 
Lack  of  fancy  turns  fiction  into  real. 
These  must  still,  in  learned  ignorance,  grope, 
Those  see  promise,  transmuted  to  a  hope : 
These  to  esoterics  turn  and  others  still 
Follow  the  bendings  of  their  fractious  will. 


34  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX :    Part  IV. 

Near  the  hamlet  where  his  footsteps  trod : 

Nut  Plains  :    Moose  Hill :    Leete  Island  : 

Our  common  way:    A  legend  of  Parson  B. : 

Fair  maids,  whose  bright  brown  hair :    Alderbrook : 

Green  lanes  with  tufted  paths :  Meadows  smooth  and  still 

In  hour  of  hearts  distressed :    "Ethics  of  the  dust" : 

"Down  the  silent  path  of  sleep" :    The  Eliot  Circle : 

Still   keep   company,  unending :    Shining  visions : 

Incentive  stimulus :    Some  new  virtue : 

Deeds  of  helpfulness :    Sacrifice  and  forbearance : 

Venerated  sires  :    Fond  mothers  :    Reverend  shepherds : 

All  ye,  who  dwell  secure:   The  garland. 


ALDERBROOK  35 

INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:    PART  IV. 

Alderbrook: 


We  turn  from  grief  and  would  forgetful  go, 

But  come  upon  reminding  signs  of  woe. 

The  globe  seems  more  capacious  for  the  dead 

Than  camp  for  living  legions  overhead ; 

The  household  yard  may  have  its  sacred  crest 

Of  rounded  earth,  where  tenant  treasures  rest, 

And  near  the  hamlet,  where  his  footsteps  trod, 

Many  a  true  heart  sanctifies  the  sod. 

Upon  the  verge  of  yonder  distant  plain,* 
A  wealth  of  memories  will  long  remain. 
What  confidences,  breathed,  or  faint  expressed, 
Have  to  those  sacred  grounds  been  low  confessed ! 
We've  seen  the  living  there  bend  o'er  the  dead 
To  pluck  rude  stems,  fast  growing  overhead, 
To  smooth  the  quiet  lawn,  beat  stubborn  earth 
And  give  companionship  to  lifeless  dearth. 

And  wheref  that  aboriginal,  the  moose 
Came  down  to  drink,  we  find  the  same  sad  use 
Of  mother  earth  to  cover  and  adorn 
Those  who  fell  at  life's  eve  or  early  morn. 
There  we  have  seen  sweet  sympathy  display 
Her  friendly  tributes  to  bear  sorrow's  sway; 
There  faithful  recollections  still  revive 
The  joys  and  graces  friendship  keeps  alive. 

*  Nut  Plains,    t  Moose  Hill. 


36  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Far  down  the  waters  make  their  channeled  way 
And  leave  perchance  an  island*  twice  a  day; 
There  too,  the  tides  of  life  have  ebbed  and  flowed 
And  borne  stout  hearts  unto  their  last  abode : 
Where  many  a  form  beloved,  revered  and  wise, 
From  life  forever  gone,  now  hidden  lies, 
And  only  the  spent  echoes  of  the  voice 
Come  faint  to  us  to  make  the  heart  rejoice. 

Still  others,f  linked  in  silent  slumber's  chain, 
Where  waters  flowing  murmur  in  refrain, 
Extend  their  mortal  shapes  in  serried  rank 
Along  the  brookside  on  the  quiet  bank. 
Here  hearts  as  brave  and  love  as  fond  and  true, 
Here  hopes  as  high,  proud,  faithful  in  review, 
Are  centered  round  and  o'er  the  comely  shrine, 
Extends  some  emblem  of  the  cross,  divine. 
Of  these  are  they  from  olden  eastern  world, 
Where  Celt  and  Saxon  each  his  banner  furled ; 
Where  Druid  oak  and  sacred  grove  once  grew, 
The    eldest   born   that   first   Hibernia   knew. 

In  traversing  our  common  way,  we  tread! 

Where  stretch  the  dreamless  slumbers  of  the  dead. 

There  rest  our  very  selves,  as  once  of  yore 

We  journeyed  here;    they  journey  now  no  more, 

And  yet  in  us,  still  quick  around  they  move 

And  would  in  ours  some  wayward  steps  improve. 

There  sleeps  the  soldier,  for  his  country  slain ; 

The  pilgrims  there,  from  Kent's  and  Surrey's  plain, 

The  pillars  of  the  church  sunk  in  the  soil, 

Fair  maids,  whose  bright  brown  hair  dare  dews  despoil ; 

*  Leete  Island.         t  The  Catholic  cemetery. 
X  Guilford  Green. 


ALDERBROOK  37 

Mothers,  as  dear  as  e'er  on  earth  were  known, 
Resigned  sweet  life  and  deep  in  earth  were  sown. 
Here  down  they  lay,  in  their  last  wakeless  sleep, 
Where  sun  and  stars  in  turn  their  vigils  keep. 
Bands  of  self-exiled  men,  brave  hearts  heroic, 
Who  bring  to  mind  best  features  of  the  Stoic ; 
Forever  faring  from  their  hedged  loved  land 
To  bring  fond  freedom  to  this  ruder  strand; 
Who  long  with  sorrow's  fates  had  darkly  coped, 
As  o'er  the  waves  with  sea-sad  eyes,  they  groped. 

When  moon  shines  clear,  like  fanlight  in  the  sky, 

Such  as  o'er  doorway  shines  for  passer  by, 

The  shadowy  silent  mystic  elms  around 

Now  more  enhance  the  charm  of  Nature's  bound. 

When  day  has  closed,  their  giant  forms  they  lend, 

To  picture  out  the  night  and  beauties  blend : 

Then  ruder  figures  etched  the  swarded  scene 

And  daylight  danced  o'er  brown  upon  the  green. 

The  dead  held  all  below  and  all  above, 

The  living  kept  in  testaments  of  love. 

Paths  straggled,  here  and  there,  for  lowing  kine, 

The  swine  and  sheep  close  nibbled,  then  recline. 

Do  some,  unweaned  of  life,  when  all  is  still, 
Return  by  night  and  silent  cross  the  sill 
And  haunt  the  houses,  in  their  furtive  way, 
To  make  dread  pleasantry  for  some  dull  day? 
Indulgence  fosters  much  this  frightened  fancy, 
Come  down  from  olden  days  of  necromancy ; 
When  some  strange,  shining,  phosphorescent  light 
Here  flickers  more  fitfully  in  the  night 
These  notions  weird,  of  ghosts  and  spirit  shades, 
Still  linger  from  light,  gleaming  in  the  glades. 


38  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

With  less  dread  or  less  fancy  in  the  head, 
We  rather  fear  some  living  than  all  dead. 

But  phantom  forms,  in  truth,  abound  in  haze 
Of  very  ancient  hoar  and  ghostly  days ; 
Egyptian,  Grecian,  Roman  shades  were  such, 
Though  clear  to  sight,  impalpable  to  touch. 
The  ghost  presumed  to  be  the  spirit  norm 
Whose  outer  must  to  inner  shape  conform. 
It  bore  the  type  and  symptom  of  the  soul, 
That  might  revisit  earth  and  darkly  stroll ; 
Real  and  unreal,  clad  or  unclad  and  bare, 
When  closely  viewed,  it  vanished  in  the  air. 
So  ghostly  tales  are  made  and  handed  down 
Of  how  the  parson  terrorized  the  town. 

Naught  stirred  the  murmurs  of  the  evening  still, 

Save  insects,  chirping  merrily  and  shrill ; 

The  moon  belated,  rising  in  her  arch, 

The  lone  hour  hasting  to  its  midnight  march. 

The  clock,  high  towered  above,  tolled  o'er  the  way 

The  slower  paces  of  the  lingering  day. 

The  poplars  furled,  like  sentinels,  stood  nigh, 

Where  sturdy  sires  beneath  lay  sleeping  by ; 

O'er  whom,  so  spectre  like,  the  sombre  stone 

Their  slumbers  sentried,  breathless  and  alone; 

Whose  shades,  but  almost  never  seen,  arose 

To  play  at  hide  and  seek  within  the  close. 

The  parson,  longer  than  his  usual  wont, 
Had  kept  his  duty  later  to  the  front ; 
Then  left  the  sacred  precincts  of  research, 
With  all  the  emblems  that  he  wore  at  church 
And  thinking,  thinking  still  along  the  way, 


ALDERBROOK  39 

He  raised  his  arms  in  token  to  display 

The  infelt,  ardent  tenor  of  the  prayer, 

He  breathed,  enrapt  upon  the  midnight  air; 

Till  calmed  and  freshened  to  a  normal  nerve, 

By  cooling  breeze  and  forces  in  reserve, 

He  turned  for  short  across  the  graveyard  green, 

The  very  moment  that  a  ghost  was  seen. 

A  few  sweet  hearts,  returning  from  the  dance, 
Spied  this  feigned  figure,  faring  as  in  trance, 
In  robes,  all  priestly  pure,  that  waving  white, 
Gave  signs  of  spirit,  passing  in  the  night. 
And  weird  words,  breathless,  faint,  unearthly  low 
Come  from  this  pallid  image,  moving  slow. 
Behind  the  stones,  now  hid,  it  disappeared, 
Then  forward  came  as  if  it  nothing  feared; 
A  figure,  strange  to  encounter  without  fright, 
Among  the  tombs,  so  grim  and  grave  by  night. 
To  dance  with  shining  spectre  on  the  green, 
No  maiden  dared,  though  bold  as  Briton's  queen; 
So,  ready  for  a  run,  the  frightened  dears 
Did  run,  mistook  their  fancies  for  their  fears 
And  bolting  homeward  in  a  quickstep  flight, 
Let  Parson  Baldwin  go  alone  in  white. 

II. 

Now  turn  we  to  the  murmuring  marsh  nook, 
Where  alders  blow  and  whistle  to  the  brook; 
Life  glides  below,  birds  nest  them  in  the  brake, 
Where  many  a  warrior  bold  puts  all  at  stake. 
Green  lanes  with  tufted  paths  through  fields  serene 
With  fruits  and  sheaves  and  hues  of  sylvan  scene 
And  russet  leaves,  from  forestry  afar, 


4°  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Compose  a  picture,  only  death  can  mar. 

Smooth  meadows  stretching  spread  the  vale  and  yield 

Fair  views  that  smile  away,  till  far  afield, 

They  rise,  then  fall  and  meet  the  coming  tide, 

Where  bounding  ships  on  inlet  waters  glide. 

The  ocean's  rolling  life  comes  near  and  greets, 

Now  spreading  broad  its  ice-bound  wintry  sheets ; 

In  summer,  bringing  breezes,  cool  and  still, 

That  waft  their  sweet  wild  perfumes  where  they  will. 

The  living,  on  the  traveled  way,  will  pass 
With  laughter  light,  to  whom  all  flesh  is  grass ; 
Will  throw  a  look  perchance,  where  silent  lie 
Old  friends  beloved  and  swiftly  pass  them  by. 
Far  on  the  route  pursues  its  pebbled  path 
And  courses  by  the  meadow's  aftermath ; 
Or,  smooth  before  a  homestead  rides  the  land 
And,  lost  to  view,  runs  where  the  houses  stand, 
That  gleam  by  day  and  welcome  warm  by  night 
To  comfort  in  the  hillside  hamlet  bright. 
O'er  walls,  the  grape  its  fruited  lasso  flings 
And  trees  are  perches  where  the  wild  bird  sings. 

Betimes  in  turn,  we  tread  the  grieving  ground, 
Where  buried  memories  lie  strewn  around. 
And  coolly  scan  the  names,  unknown  to-day, 
Of  those  who,  living  once,  have  turned  to  clay. 
Now  bend  nor  think  to  shed  a  precious  tear 
Upon  quaint  stone,  superannuated  near : 
When  o'er  the  cherished  dead,  the  heapy  mound 
Proclaims  our  grief  and  marks  our  spirit's  wound, 
More  tenderly  we  view  the  hallowed  spot, 
Where  now,  the  stone  cries  out    'forget-me-not' 


ALDERBROOK  41 

A  peaceful  stillness,  o'er  God's  acre  reigns, 
Scarce  broken  by  the  note  the  winged  bird  deigns, 
Or  the  low  wailing  murmur  of  the  main. 
Now  groups  of  mourners  come  with  sad  refrain. 
The  cadenced  dirge,  the  broken  sob  suppressed 
Stir  pity  in  this  hour  of  hearts  distressed. 
The  measured  tread,  bared  head  and  burdened  bier 
Recall  the  scenes  that  we  have  witnessed  here ; 
While  tokens,  flowering  fair  that  love  reveal 
And  tenderness,  might  touch  a  heart  of  steel, 
The  withered  wreaths,  neglect,  decay  and  rust 
Tell  mournfully   "the  ethics  of  the  dust." 

Then,  turning  to  the  parted  past  we  brood, 
As  thoughts  compel  regret  and  pensive  mood ; 
Midst  garland  crowns  and  where  the  fir  trees'  gloom 
O'ershadows  dark  and  memories  tender  bloom 
We  seek  anew  the  hidden  forms  at  rest 
That,  since  they're  gone,  we  love  the  best. 
In  slumber  wrapt  and  lost  in  last  repose, 
They  heed  not  our  lament  nor  feel  our  woes; 
Who  went  from  earth's  heaped  harvests,  rich  to  reap, 
"On  light  wing  down  the  silent  path  of  sleep" 
And  with  these  cherished  ones,  reposing  near, 
The  living  soul  should  not  feel  friendless  here, 
Where  heaven's  starry  glimmers  brightly  fall 
And  gentle  peace  broods  kindly  over  all ; 
Where  days  and  years  increasing  swiftly  pass 
And  leave  Time's  sands  still  standing  in  the  glass. 

Eliots,   circling   round   in   reverence   rest 
'Neath  Wyllys  and  Harlakenden's  joined  crest. 
The  children's  children  of  the    'Apostle'  these 
Whose  saintly  love  the  Indian  could  please; 


42  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

While  Edward  Third  and  plumed  Philippa,  fair 

Take  our  due  reverence  traveling  there. 

The  noblest  forms  of  men  and  women,  dear 

With  elegance  and  grace  and  worth  lie  here. 

As  if  from  life's  loved  festival  returning, 

They  have  come  unto  quieter  sojourning, 

Who,  once  sweet  hours,  in  tuned  harmony,  spending, 

Now  still  keep  a  companionship  unending. 

There  branching  low,  the  shrub  and  flowering  vine 

Guard  hidden  trusts  and  over  them  incline; 

There  others,  lost  and  undistinguished,  lie, 

Graved  and  ungraved  'neath  canopy  of  sky. 

III. 

Bright  visions  shine  from  generations  past 

And  greet  us  in  the  eve  of  life  at  last 

Of  gracious  faces,  fairest  forms  and  features, 

Descended  fair  from  former  rarest  creatures, 

Of  whom  we  may  have  seen  some  sires  and  dames : 

All  very  dear  and  not  forsaken  names, 

To  those  who  bear  them  now :   and  souls  like  these 

Here  never  more,  our  living  sight  shall  please. 

What  sterling  virtues  in  their  faces  shone! 

What  deeds  of  helpful  kindness  have  we  known ! 

What  favor,  fondness  and  forbearance  too 

From  those,  long  resting  here,  whom  once  we  knew ! 

Such  sacred  sentiments  our  thoughts  engage, 

As  looking  backward  on  life's  pictured  page, 

We  bring  to  mind  the  memories  and  store 

Of  fostered  friends,  whom  we  shall  see  no  more. 

Our  grudging  gifts  to  them  were  their  short  gains. 

They  have  given  much  that  still  to  us  remains, 


ALDERBROOK  43 

Who,  living  in  the  struggles  of  the  day, 
Are  conscious  of  their  guiding  spirit's  sway. 
What  impulse,  frequent  to  us,  comes  at  last 
From  these  marred  memories  of  the  buried  past ! 
What  meaning  new  in  those  relations  dear 
That  journey  with  us  on  our  faring  here! 
And  yet  too  late  to  serve  and  fondly  cherish 
Those  gone  for  whom  we  now  could  gladly  perish ; 
And  all  too  late,  this  glow  of  loving  kindness 
For  those  whose  eyes  have  closed  to  us  in  blindness ! 
How,  when  our  struggling  purpose  weakened  fails, 
Some  full  regretful  retrospect  prevails, 
The  record  of  shortcomings  in  the  strife 
For  good  that  cast  their  shadows  over  life ! 
Yet  weak  and  drear  and  fruitless  ill  lamenting 
No  frowning  fate,  no  willful  fault  preventing, 
Serves  no  distress  to  bear  or  stoutly  brave 
And  gives  no  helpful  lesson  from  the  grave. 
Recollection  brooding,  bowed,  will  least  appease 
The  soreness  of  the  heart,  the  mind's  ill  ease; 
They  do  not  find  that  heedless  they  forget, 
Who  gently  loose  the  lingerings  of  regret 
And  aptly  learn  in  Nature's  Stoic  school 
To  stand,  while  bowing  to  her  law  and  rule. 

When  sorrow  better  borne  has  yet  the  giving 
Of  grace  and  gentler  habit  to  the  living, 
In  life's  last  hazards,  even  pain  and  grief 
For  death's  sore,  wanton  wounds  may  find  relief. 
It  cannot  be  that  sorrow's  fateful  faring 
Should  not  bestow  on  us  a  power,  forbearing; 
Some  virtue  new  and  recompensed  reward 
Rise  from  the  culture  of  the  sacred  sward. 

3* 


44  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

So  shall  memories,  inwoven  with  the  past, 
The  life,  cheer  onward,  fleeting  with  us  fast, 
So  shall  the  pathos  sweet,  of  sundered  ties, 
To  living  souls,  bring  gentle  grief's  reprise. 
Turning  and  returning,  now  low  we  bend 
Above  the  ashes  of  some  prostrate  friend ; 
The  treasured  best  from  their  companioned  lives, 
The  rich  memorial  that  still  survives. 
Farewell !    we  cry,  farewell !    to  those  we  knew, 
Again,  again  we  bid  to  all  adieu! 

Ye  venerated  sires,  bowed  down  with  care, 
Who  did,  unmurmuring,  life's  burdens  bear 
And  cleared  the  stubborn  ways,  from  year  to  year, 
With  fortitude  that  should  in  turn  endear: 
Ye  fair,  fond  mothers,  with  piqued  patience  rare, 
Who  oft  with  heedless  frailties  did  forbear, 
Whose  love  and  closer  kinship  to  the  race 
Give  memories  that  time  must  not  efface : 
Ye  reverend  shepherds  of  our  various  flocks 
All  striving  here  to  live  lives  orthodox, 
Our  chief  exemplars  in  the  Christian  graces, 
Who  bore  faith's  calm  devotion  in  your  faces ; 
All  ye,  for  whom  the  passing  knell  has  tolled, 
Who  dwell  secure,  in  our  liege  love  enrolled, 
Whose  presence,  fond  regret  and  friendship  crave, 
•       Sleep  laureled,  loved,  lamented  in  the  grave ! 

As,  at  the  flowing  banquets  on  the  Nile, 
The  lotus  flower  offset  fair  Egypt's  smile 
And  guests  received  the  garland  round  the  neck, 
So  may  these  lines  these  lowly  beds  bedeck; 
Though  here  no  hum  of  day's  industrious  skill, 


ALDERBROOK  45 

Nor  hush  that  makes  night  silent,  wakeful  thrill, 

The  living  oft  shall  pace  these  parting  grounds 

And  warm  affection  trace  their  narrow  bounds : 

Nor  need  we,  as  we  walk  along  the  brink 

Of  stream  that  they  have  crossed,  of  whom  we  think, 

Have  fear  to  lay  us  down  at  last  and  bring 

A  comfort  close  to  them  of  whom  we  sing. 


GUILFORD    PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  ALDERBROOK. 
Part  V :   Baldwin — Dunn. 


ALDERBROOK  47 

REVEREND  DAVID  BALDWIN. 

February  4,  1780 — August  2,  1862. 

This  shepherd  is  remembered  by  a  few, 
As  old,  retired  and  more  unique  he  grew. 
His  hat  was  high,  surtout  was  long  and  slack 
And  shrouded  his  tall,  comely  form  in  black. 
A  man  of  prudence,  sense  and  humor  quick, 
Resolved  to  live  and  pull  through  thin  and  thick. 
He  loved  to  see  the  boys  at  harmless  play; 
The  mischief,  brewed  by  night,  he  knew  next  day. 
If  pay  came  half  in  barter  and  was  small, 
It  drolly  touched  his  humor,  that  was  all. 
He  eked  it  out  with  laughter  and  could  say 
"The  preaching  was  no  better  than  the  pay." 

Humane  and  generous  to  mortal  fault, 
All  ways  and  means,  divine,  he  did  exalt, 
With  daily  sacrifice  to  spread  abroad 
The  just  example  of  the  man  of  God. 
Beyond  the  hills  there,  driving  far  away, 
He  bore  the  Saviour's  gospel  in  his  day 
To  bless  the  humble  cottage  with  the  love 
He  caught  and  ministered  from  that  above. 
They,  whose  acquaintance  so  far  backward  ran, 
Describe  him  in  those  days,  as  'more  than  man.' 

In  hours  of  sorrow  and  in  scenes  of  joy, 
Thus  did  his  large  humanity  employ 
To  proffer  peace  and  kind  relieve  distress 
Of  spirit  here,  in  our  wide  wilderness. 
Here,  ever  blooming,  be  the  sacred  sward 
That  gives  his  excellence  life's  last  reward ! 


48  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.  RUTH   ELLIOTT   BALDWIN. 

October  2,  1776 — February  22,  1856. 

The  fame  of  her  full  charm  and  silent  spell 
Still  lingers  here  with  those  who  knew  her  well 
And  e'en  with  some,  who  haply  knew  her  not, 
She  lives  regretted,  cherished  nor  forgot. 
Not  yet  a  legend  left  nor  more  a  myth, 
Though  she  has  lost,  from  vital  life,  the  pith, 
Nor  bends  complaisant,  tall  her  form,  to  greet, 
Nor,  marching  forth,  makes  conquest  of  the  street, 
When  waved  her  colors  pink,  as  ribbons  fly, 
And  Parson  Baldwin  bore  her  banner  by. 

The  stately  step,  the  soul  did  dignify, 

The  glance  and  gleaming  of  the  gentle  eye, 

The  features  here,  imprisoned  like  a  gem, 

Make  up  her  last  domain  and  diadem. 

We  see  Hainault's  brave  queen  Philippa  there, 

Nor  was  Harlakenden  herself  more  fair. 

She  dwelt  enthroned  as  set  upon  a  hill, 
And  there,  she  was  the  regent,  guide  and  will; 
There  she  must  plot  and  plan  the  parish  weal, 
Self  sacrifice  and  oft  for  others  feel; 
Now  bear  the  burden  of  the  heated  day, 
Direct  life's  aims  and  drive  its  ills  away; 
The  hungry  feed,  the  naked  clothe  anew, 
Their  faults  forgive,  receive  the  thanks  of  few. 

As  mistress  of  the  manse,  she  watched  the  fire 
That  warmed  the  parson's  zeal  and  cooled  his  ire. 
He  could  not  leave  a  world  on  which  she  shone, 
Who  went  forth  bravely  first,  eclipsed,  alone. 


MRS.    RUTH    E.    BALDWIN. 


ALDERBROOK  49 

WILLIAM  WARD  BALDWIN. 

May  7,  1818 — January  24,  1902. 

A  darkly  flashing  eye,  full-featured  face, 
Ready  faculties  there,  one  well  could  trace. 
And  in  those  more  impulsive  hearty  ways, 
We  saw  the  Reverend  in  his  early  days. 

With  humor  and  droll  story,  he  was  apt 
His  wit  to  fireside  fancies  would  adapt. 
Good  cheer  and  mirth  within  his  nature  dwelt 
And  made  his  presence  welcome  to  be  felt. 

His  eager  spirit,   disregarding  odds. 
Would  quicken  Fortune  when  she  slowly  plods ; 
For  he  would  govern  with  electric  sway 
Fortune  herself,  nor  wait  on  her  delay. 

In  church  affairs,  much  interest  he  took, 
Relieved  the  weak  whom  favor  had  forsook. 
Large  measures  of  himself  he  did  not  spare, 
But  lavished  self  with  willingness  as  rare. 

Here  now,  significant  for  much,  he  lies, 
And  chief  this  yard  all  beauteous  replies; 
A  wilderness,  then  rescued  from  neglect, 
When  his  inspection  briars  did  detect 
And  brambles  and  unsuitable  decay, 
That  fast  were  making  with  its  grace  away. 

He  first  forbid  the  brambles'  presence  here, 
Entangled  with  these  memories  we  revere. 
We  will  not  then  his  memory  neglect, 
Who  stirred  our  slumbering  spirit  of  respect, 
And  roused  the  deeper  feelings  of  regard, 
That  nurture  and  protect  this  sacred  yard. 


50  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

REVEREND  LORENZO  THOMPSON  BENNETT,  D.D. 

November  13,   1805 — September  2,  1889. 

His  reverence,  benign  with  manly  grace. 
Carried  God's  love  and  mercy  in  the  face. 
When  priestly  function  clothed  with  awe  the  man, 
As  only  mystic  rites  and  functions  can, 
There  still,  beneath  the  surplice  and  the  gown, 
The  smiling  friend  remained  without  a  frown. 

He  served  the  Church,*  as  true  to  sacred  diction, 
And  lived  and  moved  before- us  without  friction. 
All  so  well  wonted  to  his  every  feature ; 
Now  seen  at  church,  as  there  the  pulpit  teacher, 
Then  in  the  parish  ways  at  doors  to  knock, 
A  courtly  noble  form  to  seek  his  flock. 

With  gentle  life,  devoted  and  aimed  high, 
He  sought,  the  pattern  Lord,  to  bring  us  nigh. 
He  cheered  the  sick  and  turned  their  trust  above 
To  source  and  fountain  of  a  larger  love; 

Consoled  the  sorrowing  with  apt  address 
And  bore  with  them  the  burden  of  distress ; 
Received  the  confidence  of  weak  and  strong 
And  taught  the  difference  -'twixt  right  and  wrong. 

To  scenes  of  joy,  then  gladly  did  he  turn 
And  heightened  there  the  pleasures  that  we  earn. 
We  saw  him  oft,  serene  among  the  young, 
Rejoicing  in  their  mirth  when  songs  were  sung. 

So  far  around  his  kindly  influence  reached 
And  well  he  strove  to  practice  as  he  preached. 
Here  fifty  years  his  saintly  service  ran, 
A  model  of  the  Christian  gentleman. 

*  Dr.  Bennett's  full  service  in  Christ  Church  was  nearly  fifty  years. 


REV.    L.    T.    BENNETT,    D.D. 


ALDERBROOK  5 1 

MRS.   MARINA  BISHOP  BENNETT. 
May  27,  1817 — October  12,  1907. 

How  weak  are  words  to  tell  the  thoughts  that  surge 
When  she,  mid  silence,  broken  only  by  the  dirge 
Of  wail,  lament  and  bell,  is  borne  away 
Out  from  our  presence,  parting  here  to-day ! 

From  youth,  through  fair  mid  age,  slow  onward  borne, 
Her  days  have  come  and  gone,  till  time  has  worn 
Life's  welcome  out  upon  our  quiet  heath. 
And  now,  upon  her  bier,  we  lay  our  wreath 
Of  homage,  woven  of  Time's  tender  threads 
That  reverent  love  with  friendly  feeling  spreads. 

Though  few  remain  who  welcomed  her  in  youth, 
We  know,  who  came  and  found  her,  serving  truth, 
How  staunch  has  been  her  standard  for  the  right, 
Which  she  has  fostered  with  more  gentle  might. 

The  scholar,  priest  and  guest  from  far  away, 
She  housed  and  here  befriended,  in  her  day. 
Figures  of  godly  men  have  come  and  gone 
And  left  their  graves  for  her  to  look  upon. 

The  zeal,  the  voice,  so  eloquent  in  tone, 
The  grace  of  life,  the  gentle  love  that  shone, 
The  deeds  of  goodly  doing,  now  and  then — 
We  shall  not  look  upon  her  like  again ! 

The  fair,  full,  queenly  form,  the  kindling  eye, 
The  joyful,  eager  cheer  and  sympathy 
That  smiled  and  quick  to  kindly  word  awoke, 
Till,  when  she  ceased,  then  still  her  silence  spoke. 

Life's  lot  and  love  and  labor,  she  has  left 
And  of  her  choicer  self,  we  are  bereft. 

4 


52  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

DOCTOR  SAMUEL  WILLIAM  BROWN. 

April  13,  1802 — January  30,  1862. 

O !    would  we  might  restore  mind,  heart  and  limb 
And  all  compactly  now  recover  him, 
And  lessons  learn,  from  what  is  buried  there, 
Such  treasures  he  possessed,  so  rich  and  rare. 

The  sun,  elsewhere  eclipsed,  shone  from  his  heart, 
So  rumor  says  to-day  that  knew  his  part. 
In  life,  beloved  by  all  and  still  endeared 
In  memory,  as  to  all  virtues  reared. 

His  forte  it  was  to  resurrect  the  life 
Not  gone,  and  free  it  from  internal  strife; 
111  humors  dissipate,  drive  out  disease, 
Sustain  and  set  the  body  at  its  ease. 

He  loved  all  things,  down  to  the  very  worm. 
Fed  that  with  leaves  of  moras  for  a  term ; 
So  like  to  Jared  Eliot,  rare  was  he 
Their  true  twin  spirits  should  full  well  agree. 

Then,  far  adventuring  across  the  land, 

He  went  whole-hearted  to  the  western  strand : 

There*  raised  the  scale  of  learning  for  all  ranks 

And  mended  up  the  needy  sick  for  thanks. 

Clear  visions  of  the  ideal  for  his  kind 

He  had  in  his  illumined,  thoughtful  mind. 

Full  breasted  forth,  compact,  of  ample  form 
And  featured  spaciously,  he  braved  life's  storm. 
Was  there  deceased,  then  resurrection  knew 
When  years  of  rare  repose  had  rested  through. 
Affection,  filial  craved  his  presence  near; 
He  rose  as  if  to  life  and  journeyed  here. 
*  Trustee  of  schools  at  Petaluma,  Cal. 


ALDERBROOK  5  3 

MRS.  HANNAH  HUMPHREY  BROWN. 

May  25,  181 1 — December  12.  1900. 

We  see  her  tall,  commanding  form,  unbent, 
That  neither  time  nor  care  could  make  relent: 
The  dark  decisive  eye  and  treasured  power 
That  gave  its  resolution  to  the  hour; 
The  full  perceptive  mind,  the  gift  of  birth, 
Which  lent  to  her  decision  weight  and  worth. 
These  made  an  outfit  such  as  without  fear 
Might  cope  in  confidence  with  high  career. 
A  strong,  sustaining  spirit,  she  was  known 
To  bear  the  griefs  of  others  with  her  own 
And  hold  in  Fate's  dark,  decimating  day, 
The  stauncher  courage  of  her  living  stay. 
Who  transmitted  her  fair  form  and  graces 
And  saw  growing  still  in  other  faces, 
Herself  again,  in  form  and  mould  as  rare : 
And  then  and  there,  as  time  did  onward  fare, 
She  saw,  as  well  the  happy  years  retreated, 
In  younger  lives,  her  own  fair  life  repeated ; 
Life  which,  strenuous,  active  and  full  awake, 
Should  naught,   in  opportunity,   forsake. 

CAPTAIN  GEORGE  BARTLETT. 

October  24,  1798 — November  i,  1893. 

None  ran  so  full  of  life's  elixir  quite, 
As,  through  the  century,  he  took  delight 
And  gave  encouragement,  of  secret  found, 
Of  Guilford  days  to  lengthen  out  the  bound. 
Throughout  our  borders,  this  attention  drew 
And  fast  desire  to  learn  the  secret  grew. 
But  then,  alas !    for  all  he  had  to  mention 
Was  diligence  due  here  in  life's  convention, 
With  moderation,  temperance  and  quiet, 


54  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

Freedom  from  worry  and  a  prudent  diet. 
Indeed !   all  this,  quite  everybody  knew. 
He  practiced  it  and  never  aged  grew. 
So  much  beloved,  of  gentle  spirit  rare, 
None  thought  this  youth,  from  happy  life,  to  spare. 
But  ageing  then  at  last  though  never  old, 
Still  young  he  passed,  regretted,  from  our  fold. 
He  takes  no  more  his  distant  walks  abroad 
Nor  sits,  for  example,  in  the  house  of  God, 
Who  deeply  stirred  the  reverence  of  our  day 
By  his  uprightness  through  a  century. 

COLONEL  JOHN  BURGIS. 

September  29,  1798 — November  6,  1864. 

In  cottage,  more  attractive  in  the  past, 
One  of  the  few  that  make  the  fashion  last, 
The  Colonel  lived,  enjoying  peace  of  mind; 
His  spirit  then  from  peace,  to  war  inclined. 
He  bore  this  heritage,  mayhap,  from  France, 
Where  some*  Deshon,  in  tourney  bore  a  lance. 
Of  slender  form  and  far  from  giant  stood, 
To  fear  him,  out  of  battle,  no  one  should. 
But,  seated  on  his  charger,  in  disguise, 
Not  man,  but  Colonel,  you  would  recognize. 
In  peace,  he  tilled  the  earth  and  raised  its  seed, 
There  warring  with  the  elements,  indeed. 
We  saw  him,  striving  fair  with  manly  might, 
To  put  in  practice  choicer  ethics,  right, 
As  temperance,  just  liberty  for  man; 
Of  this  brave  leader  such,  in  brief,  the  plan. 
He  could  but  be  a  soldier,  as  he  stood 
In  firm  and  resolute  and  true  manhood, 
As  much  engaged  in  crafts  of  Church  and  State, 
Watching  to  better  them  and  wrongs  abate. 

*  Des  Champs. 


MISS    CLARISSA    CALDWELL. 


ALDERBROOK  55 

MISS  FRANCES  STONE  BURGIS. 

December  4,  1823 — August  15,  1882. 

She  was  a  gracious  woman,  fair  and  tall, 

Right  noble  and  distinguished  among  all. 

And  when  the  ground  she  stately  walked  upon, 

Our  admiration  could  but  follow  on. 

The  signs  of  gentle  womanhood  she  bore, 

Not  in  mere  elegance  of  dress  she  wore, 

Sc  comely,  dainty  and  so  well  adorning. 

But  surer  telling  tokens  gave  us  warning, 

Of  dearer,  sweeter  merits,  held  within 

That  shone  transparent  through  this  garb  so  thin. 

With  choicest  qualities  and  cultured  grace, 

That  only  time,  relentless,  could  efface. 

With  earnest  soul  and  thoughtful  mind  endowed, 

Nor  querulous,  nor  frivolous,  nor  proud, 

To  social  life  she  gave  an  added  zest 

And  kindly  deeds  her  interest  expressed. 

Then,  in  its  sweet  domain,  imprisoned  fast, 

Her  life  led  weary  hours  in  thralls  at  last; 

Till  on  the  walks,  no  more  among  the  fair, 

Her  gentle  form,  blue  eyes  and  dark,  brown  hair ! 

MISS  CLARISSA  CALDWELL. 

April  8,  1776 — January  18,  1876. 

Years  yonder  fly  since,  on  her  threshold  meeting, 
We  won  the  welcome  warm  of  her  glad  greeting; 
Who  stood  with  tall  and  ample  form  beholding 
And  full  of  sympathy  all  things  enfolding.' 

Her  deep  set  eyes  with  gentle  feeling  shone, 
Her  visage  happy  smiled  and  in  bright  tone, 
With  laughter  bubbling  over  from  its  spring, 
The  welcomes  of  a  charming  hostess  ring. 


56  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

She  bought  and  sold  the  fashions  for  the  town, 
And  ribbons  from  New  York  for  hood  and  gown ; 
She  guides  gentility  with  model  means 
And  has  a  bonnet  branch  at  New  Orleans. 
Here  once  with  Lyman  Beecher,  down  the  hall, 
She  danced  quadrille  at  Independence  ball. 

Faith  would  fail  now  of  all  the  legion  telling 

Who  crossed  the  threshold  worn  of  her  loved  dwelling ; 

Priest,  prelate,  mitred  bishop  and  more  rare, 

At  festive  Christmas,  they  yearly  feasted  there. 

The  church  here  templed,  paralleled  a  life 
For  her,  removed  beyond  the  earthly  strife. 
It  stood  for  that  supreme  and  higher  good 
That  filled  so  large  her  noble  womanhood. 

Her  faithful  comrade  aged  and  aged  away 
To  help  her  measure  out  the  hundredth  day. 
With  wine  and  friendly  cordial  such  as  cheers, 
We  strove  to  keep  her  for  one  hundred  years : 
For  she  was  rare  and  happy,  full  and  fair, 
And  much  it  means  to  us  that  she  lies  there. 

HENRY  WARD  CHITTENDEN. 

December  7,  1794 — October  31,  1867 

Merchant   retired,  he  lived  upon  the  green 
With  varied  vantage  that's  supposed  to  mean 
On  training  day  and  those  the  more  spectacular, 
Like  fair  day,  when  much  quaint  and  queer  vernacular 
Is  spoke :    large,  rubicund,  rotund  and  tall, 


HENRY    W.    CHITTENDEN. 


ALDERBROOK  57 

A  noble  personage,  you  would  recall : 
In  blue  cloth  coat,  brass  buttons  down  before, 
High  hat,  black  eyes  and  full  brown  wig,  he  wore: 
With  easy  carriage,  charm  and  grace  old  school, 
With  gentle  humor,  manners  mild  not  cool. 

Bright  cheer  he  loved  and  made  his  foibles  serve 
His  raillery,  warm  to  temper  chill  reserve; 
When  mounted  on  his  charger,  training  day, 
He  was  admired  while  cantering  away. 

He  could  not  look  but  handsome  and  gallant ; 
Of  nobler  merits,  nature  was  not  scant. 
He  would  not  quarrel:    this  his  only  fault, 
Who  knew  not  fairly  how  to  make  assault. 

And  when  the  British  came,  in  their  red  frocks, 
He  fortified  himself  behind  the  rocks. 
This   his  own   story  and   should  be  told,  true, 
Though  he  would  dearly  love  to  puzzle  you. 

About  him  then  drew  choice  and  noble  souls, 
Who  rise  before  us  in  their  worthy  roles ; 
The  knightly  soldier,  the  eloquent  divine, 
Judge,  barrister,  in  all  their  honors  shine. 

The  soldier  Camp  with  Rogers  the  divine 

And  Baldwin  with  their  ladies  too,  in  line; 

Parsons  the  judge,  of  just  judicial  mien, 

All  gathered  here,  forefather  Time  has  seen. 

All,  young  and  old,  guests,  host  and  hostess,  gone ! 

So  fades  the  scene  the  living  looked  upon. 


58  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.  MARY  GRIFFING  CHITTENDEN. 

February  6,  1801 — March  21,  1878. 

We  saw  her  later  life,  serene  with  age, 
When  calmer  joys  are  suited  to  engage 
Our  wiser,  more  experienced  desires. 
And  well  she  knew  what  happy  life  requires. 

She  slowly  aged,,  whose  mother,  faster  aging, 
Filial  duty  then  first  her  steps  engaging, 
Found  her  faithful  to  take  the  daily  airing 
To  learn  just  how  the  elder  born  was  faring. 

Then  hostess  next  at  home,  when  parson  came; 
She  his  taste  must  study  and  learn  his  name. 
When  pensive  o'er  the  task,  the  master  spared 
No  opening  chance  for  pleasantry :    so  fared 

The  parson  strange:    when  others  came  to  greet 
And  storied  wit  with  laughter  was  the  treat, 
All  would  as  lief  forget  the  sermon  time: 
Just  then  the  bells  must  loud  begin  to  chime. 

She,  tall  and  stately,  without  meaning  pride 
And  speaking  few  words,  those  might  none  deride, 
Now  bending  forward  and  inclined  the  head, 
Into  such  form  as  thoughtful  life  is  led : 

Discreet  and  wise  and  calm  to  order  right 
The  virtues,  treasured  in  her  gentle  might; 
So  warned  and  wary  of  fair  Fortune's  crosses 
And  loth  to  see  things  sacred  suffer  losses, 
Now  sits  down  and  the  deacon  counsel  gives ; 
Till  so  restored,  Nathaniel's  daughter  lives. 

Parsons  to  please  and  deacons  to  make  wise, 
We  show  her  still  in  not  infrequent  guise. 


MRS.    MARY   G.    CHITTENDEN. 


ALDERBROOK  59 

MRS.  LYDIA  ELIZABETH  COAN. 

January  29,  1836 — July  4,  1900. 

Here  gently  rests,  in  peace  and  full  regret, 

One  whose  place  voiceless,  remains  vacant  yet, 

Whose  large  affections  altruistic  shone, 

Who  sought  the  good  of  others  as  her  own. 

Kind,  cheering  words  arise  again  to  me, 

Words  that  she  uttered  generous  and  free; 

Sincere,   spontaneous  as  the  wafted  air, 

With  joyous  smile  and  glad  eye,  beaming  fair. 

Yet  more  with  works  than  words  she  filled  these  ways, 

While  fast  the  sands  of  life  ran  out  her  days; 

Who,  to  the  public  weal,  her  service  lent, 

A  publicist  indeed  with  best  intent, 

With  clear  intelligence  to  understand 

The  full  nobility  of  Christ's  command. 

So  lavish  of  her  talents,  time  and  health, 

She  was  long  potent  in  our  village  wealth. 

Her  name  gave  warrant  to  an  enterprise, 

Of  social  purpose  here  and  otherwise 

Indexed  her  value  in  our  common  care, 

Of  which,  alas !    death  makes  us  so  aware. 

GEORGE  DUDLEY. 

November  3,  1807 — December  8,  1869. 

He  went  forth  manfully  and  beat  the  earth 
And  in  its  furrows  threw  his  weight  and  worth 
And   drew,   from  warm  or  cold   capricious   hold, 
Fruits  that  his  toil  rewarded  manifold. 
Year  in  and  out,  with  Nature  to  contend, 
He  forced  the  contest  till  he  gained  his  end. 
So  multiplied  his  toils,  increased  his  gains 
And  looked  about  for  larger  barns  and  wains. 
Then  found  his  power  and  parts,  increasing, 


60  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Felt  trust  in  Providence,  his  fears  releasing, 
Saw  finer  fruits  his  joyous  strength  would  win 
New  character  found,  harvested  within. 
For  church  and   state,  he  held  a  strong  reserve 
Of  courage,  counsel,  wisdom,  knowledge,  nerve; 
This  full  drawn  out,  in  emergency  of  need 
Made  then  some  precious  hope  forlorn  succeed. 
His  strength  majestic  rose  in  towering  height 
And  showed  with  dignity,  commanding  might; 
Such  treasure  did  we  lose,  when  life  resigned, 
And,  to  this  sacred  ground,  his  form  consigned. 

JOEL  DUDLEY. 

July   13,   1788 — November  14,  1869. 

He  studied  heaven's  hallowed  sweeter  guile 
And  gentleness,  but  little  learned  the  wile 
And  craftiness  of  earth :    serene  in  age, 
We  saw  his  steps,  retreating  from  the  stage 
Of  life,  and  here  his  spirit's  smile  and  sweetness 
Threw  out  its  radiance  in  full  completeness, 
As  he  journeyed  on  in  ripening  peace 
And  felt  his  days  glide  by  and  years  increase. 
This  man,  of  perfect  trust  and  faith  sublime, 
Choosing  with  God  beloved  his  future  clime, 
In  sacred  house,  high  heaven's  precepts  taught 
And,  to  the  young,  its  juster  ethics  brought. 
He  stood  before  them,  symbol  of  a  saint, 
To  fashion  them  and  of  new  life  acquaint. 
So  won  their  trust,  transferred  to  Him  above, 
The  source  and  fountain  of  such  joy  and  love. 
So,  all  his  days,  in  gentle  prospect,  ran 
And  long  life  disciplined  the  saintly  man, 
Till  garnered  like  a  ripened,  fruitful  sheaf 
He  heaped  the  harvest  of  his  firm  belief. 


ALDERBROOK  6l 

JAMES  AMBROSE  DUDLEY. 

August  21,  1840 — April  17,  1897. 

A  steadfast,  open,  honest  man  to  view. 
To  his  ideal  and  own  clear  conscience,  true. 
He  stood  among  our  ranking  men,  select, 
Whose  silent,  thinking  force  we  much  respect 
And  set  before  our  eyes  his  manly  aim, 
With  reputation  excellent  and  name ; 
Who  forward  to  new  virtues  led  the  day 
And  kept  the  old  for  pattern  of  the  way. 
His  merits  he  would  neither  urge  nor  hide 
And  yet  in  highest  office  did  preside. 
Could  indicate  the  tendencies  of  right 
With  judgment  excellent  and  terms  polite. 
In  spirit  brave,  efficient  and  heroic : 
If  less  so  still,  had  lived  to-day  less  Stoic, 
Nor  had  the  Stoic's  hardness ;    gentle  mood 
Without  showed  kindest  mind  within  and  stood 
To  let  the  ample  birthright  in  him  shine, 
Full  worthy  of  devout,  ancestral  line ; 
Till    fateful   doom  above  him   did  impend 
And  hiding  there  its  hazard,  brought  the  end. 

JOHN  DUNN. 

November  14,  1805 — March  5,  1883. 

He  beamed  upon  us  pleasantly  and  smiled, 
So  looking  fatherly  as  the  moments  whiled 
Away   in   waiting ;    then,   as  the   still   hour 
Waking,  bespoke  its   record   from  the  tower, 
He  raised  his  arms  and  waved  them  to  the  bell : 
That  silent  signaling,  it  knew  so  well, 
And  clamoring  loudly  then,  it  answered  him, 
As  there  he  stood,  inclined  but  tall  of  limb. 


62  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

And  fast  around  the  tallied  signal  flew, 
Till  other  tumbling  bells  the  sound  renew; 
With  far-resounding  and  incessant  charms, 
They  send  harmonious  their  chimed  alarms 
To  warn  again  the  waiting  village  fair 
With  sweet-toned  symphony  from  upper  air. 
And  still  aloft  the  winding  rope  unreels 
And  clocked  bell,  loosened  so,  gives  out  appeals. 

Then,  answering  from  near  and  far  around, 
The  folk  with  ears  attent  come  hither  bound 
To  hear  the  priest  and  get  such  later  news, 
As  should  not  reach  them,  sitting  in  the  pews. 

To  wait  and  listen  calm,  some  nearer  stood, 
As  lulled  and  charmed  and  sweetly  spelled;    then  hood 
And  shawl  and  cloak  and  masters  cap,  put  on, 
All  forth  they  fare  and  lock  the  door  anon. 

The  bells  blow  on  while  ringers  rest  to  toll; 
The  pastors  come,  each  with  his  sermon  roll; 
Then  tenors   show  their  silvery  timbre  out 
And  deep  the  basses  strike  in  turn  about. 

Groups,   friendly  and  beloved,   step   light  along, 
Across  the  green  they  wend  and  nodding  throng 
Now  through  the  stiles,  they  push  and  hurry,  flushed 
And  as  the  stragglers  come,  the  bells  are  hushed. 

For  years  and  years,  the  silent  Sabbath  time 
He  gave  and  signaled  us  and  keyed  the  chime; 
Looked  kindly  generations  in  the  face, 
As  oft  on  Sunday  they  did  come  for  grace, 


ALDERBR00K  63 

To  give  and  take,  in  ways  of  praise  and  song, 
Repeat  the  ethics  firm  of  right  and  wrong, 
Idealize,  uplift  the  soul  with  unction, 
With  hallowed  harmony  and  priestly  function. 

By  all  beloved,  his  days  he  did  prolong, 
Benignant  most,  when  hundreds  round  him  throng; 
Who  faithful  fed  and  stirred  the  sacred  fires, 
Whence  much  he  drew  that  faith  and  hope  inspires. 

Then  too,  alas !   like  all,  he  ceased  to  chime 
And  show  his  beaming  face  and  mark  the  time; 
His  very  hour  had  struck  and  out  at  last, 
From  that  sweet  Sabbath  harmony,  he  passed. 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  ALDERBROOK. 

Part  VI :    Dupraz — Hall. 


MISS    MARY    DUTTON. 


ALDERBR00K  65 


MISS  HENRIETTE  DUPRAZ. 

September  18,  1842 — November  24,  1866. 

Where  Alpine  needles  pierce  above  the  clouds, 
Whose  lower  folds  the  wreathing  mist  enshrouds; 
Where  snows  gleam,  white  above  the  valleys  green, 
Whose  wondrous  beauties,  joy  and  pleasure  mean; 
Where,  simple  and  serene,  life  sweetly  glides 
In  calm  contentment  blest  and  peace  abides, 
She  had,  in  that  fair  paradise  of  earth, 
The  fate  and  fortune  of  her  happy  birth. 
To  our  strange,  western  wilderness  she  came 
And  tried  to  love  its  nature  and  its  name 
And  call  it  home;    alas!    these  odds  she  took 
And  with  them  nobly  strove  till  health  forsook ; 
Till,  fading  fast  away,  she  grew  less  fair; 
Yet  wanted  nothing  but  her  native  air. 
A  brave  and  gentle  soul,  who  loved  her  land, 
Nor  could  transplant  herself   to   foreign  strand. 
So.  far  from  her  loved  lake  and  Alp  and  skies, 
She  offered  among  us  life's  sacrifice 
And  none,   from  fatherland,  may  come  to  weep 
O'er  her  who  here  lies  tranquilly  asleep. 


66  '  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

REVEREND  AARON  DUTTON. 

May  21,  1780 — June  13,  1849. 

A  man  of  brawn  and  brain,  well  domed  above, 
His   form   embodied    faith,  hope,   light,   and  love. 
He  warned  the  wicked  world  with  wit  quite  Attic 
And  sometimes  comforted  the  stiff  rheumatic. 

He  loved  his  kind,  would  help  one  in  the  lurch, 
His  many  exploits  far  outran  the  Church. 
He  mingled  Jesuit  with  Jewish  art 
To  lead  all  men  into  a  Christian  part. 
Himself,   uncrafty   and  throughout  sincere, 
We  early  learned  his  character  to  revere. 

Then  Church  and  State  heard  watchman  cry  "All's  well !" 
The  cry  was  barely  spoke  when  rose  a  swell, 
That  like  tornado  flung  them  full  apart 
And  brought  swift  grief  to  many  a  faithful  heart. 

The  parson  took  his  leave,  but  left  behind 
His  noble  work,  so  great  we  are  inclined 
To  think  no  gentleman,  though  reverend  here, 
We  should  more  honor,  prize,  admire,  revere. 

He  taught  us  not  alone  the  higher  law, 
-  But  from  his  hands  well  fit,  professors  saw 
At  Yale  and  other  schools  perchance  around, 
Young  men  arrive,  with  constitutions  sound 
And  only  too  well  versed  in  Latin,  Greek; 
Such  lifeless  lore  did  education  seek. 

Here,  in  his  earned  repose,  he  rests  endeared, 
Though  few  survive  who  once  his  form  revered: 
A  valiant  soul,  who  sacrificed  himself, 
And  chose  that  rather  than  the  parish  pelf. 


MRS.    CATHERINE    HILL   ELLIOTT. 


ALDERBROOK  67 

MISS  MARY  DUTTON.* 

November  io,  1807 — July  27,  1887. 

Honored  Mary  there,  dust  to  dust,  serene, 

Adds  a  bloom  memorial  to  sylvan  scene; 

Scion  of  a  name,  loved  nor  yet  forgot, 

We  hail  her  and  salute  the  Dutton  lot. 

Here  childhood's  early,  happy  life  began, 

As  prattling  and  laughing,  she  wayward  ran 

Upon  the  green  with  lamb  as   frolicsome, 

Midst  yarrow,  tansy  and  stramonium, 

And  aptly  proved  the  freedom  of  the  will 

To  parson,  writing  in  his  study  still. 

Her  lettered  life  and  busy  brain  we  saw, 

Wise  precepts  laying  down  and  higher  law, 

In  learned  hall,  in  academic  grove, 

Near  where  the  noise  and  din  of  city  strove. 

Brave  daughter !    for  thy  father's  sake  and  thine, 

Before  thy  dust,  we  reverently  incline; 

What  memories  have  lived  the  century  through, 

Once  handed  down  from  those  thy  father  knew ! 

Ye  heedless  hours,  why  swiftly  bring  the  day 

When  these,  alas!    with  us,  shall  pass  away? 

MRS.  CATHERINE  HILL  ELLIOTT. 

July   19,   1776 — February  8,   1862. 

Legend  has  charmed  us  by  the  hour  to  tell 
Her  dreaming  fancies  and  her  signal  spell. 
Whate'er  those  visions  were,  though  wondrous  fair, 
With  vision  of  herself  would  none  compare. 
Perchance  some  purpose  of  the  poetf  took 
Pure  inspiration  from  her  love  and  look; 
Such  Petrarch  Laura  gave  in  valed  Vercluse, 
When  zephyrs  murmured  to  the  Mistral  truce. 

*  Mistress  of  Grove  Hall  Seminary,  New  Haven,  Conn. 
f  The  poet  George  Hill,  a  brother. 

4* 


68  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

What  wingless  soarings  of  her  soul  refined 
Things  wrought,  nor  uttered,  nor  in  verse  enshrined ! 
Her  greater  task  was  minds  to  form  anew, 
When  sons  and  daughters  grouped  around  her  grew. 
She  came  and  went  in  days  of  storm  and  strife, 
Yet  calm,  serene  and  peaceful,  was  her  life. 
Our  realm  with  glimpse  of  Graces  legend  fills; 
These  Graces  three,  fair  trophies  of  our  Hills. 
Queen  of  all  hearts,  of  regnant,  royal  race, 
Thy   form  these  vagrant  lines  will   feebly  trace, 
In  colors,  fainter  than  thy  fairer  hue, 
When,  to  thy  spirit-shade,  we  bid  adieu ! 

CHARLES  WYLLYS  ELLIOT. 

May  27,  1817 — August  23,  1883. 

Too  well,  the  mournful  day  these  thoughts  recall, 

As  sad  and  loth  and  woeful  moved  the  pall, 

When  to  this  circle  to  make  more  complete, 

We  bore  him  slowly  to  his  last  retreat. 

Genial  and  gentle  manhood,  scholar's  store, 

Taste  and  social  grace  and  refinements,  more 

Than  are  given  often  to  one  soul's  keeping, 

Filled  full  the  harvest  of  that  rarest  reaping. 

Faithful  he  labored  and  with  impulse  high 

For  all  that  larger  human  wants  imply, 

Prolific  author  in  many  a  fallow  field, 

Many  a  volume  did  his  studies  yield. 

He  knew  the  present  hour  and  read  the  past; 

Then,  in  the  future  far,  his  vision  cast 

And  sought  as  carefully  some  better  way 

Out  of  the  problems  of  the  living  day. 

'Sweetness  and  light'  filled  full  his  face  serene; 

Strength,  joy  and  gladness  did  his  presence  mean. 

And  where  he  rests  from  life's  brief  storm  and  stress, 

We  lay  the  tribute  of  our  tenderness. 


CHARLES    WYLLYS    ELLIOTT. 


ALDERBROOK  69 

LEWIS    ROSSITER   ELLIOTT. 

January  23,  1819 — June  9,  1893. 

He  was  a  man  to  fill  the  fancy  quite, 

As  he  stood  royal,  to  a  village  wight ; 

Of  knightly  mien,  his  look  benignant  seemed, 

And  this  his  tall  imposing  form  redeemed. 

A  nature,  gracious,  manifold  and  free, 

Genial,  humane  and   full  of  sympathy. 

Love  twinkled  in  his  eyes  and  beckoned  near 

And  then  a  friend,   responsive,  did  appear, 

And  when,  before  the  blazing  hearth,  he  sat 

And  brightly  entertained  with   friendly  chat, 

He  gave  his  wisdom  freely  out  to  those 

Who  wished,  in  prudent  counsel,  to  repose. 

Joseph's  abandoned  locker  and  oak  chest 

Held  safe  the  household  treasures  of  the  best. 

Who  by  the  day  here  strove  to  walk  with  God 

Who  rests,  unknown,  beneath  the  common  sod. 

So  had  his  glebe  and  he  come  down  the  line 

Of  John  the  Apostle  and  revered  divine. 

He  cheered  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  served  the  town, 

And  on  his  head  beloved,  brought  blessings  down. 

WYLLYS  ELLIOTT. 

January  30,  1779 — February  25,  1855. 

Along  the  road,  the  jolting  wagons  fare 
Past  forest  hills,  there  rounding  in  the  air; 
His  nurtured  plans,  well  rounded  out  in  dreams, 
He  goes  with  enterprise  and  thrifty  schemes. 
Able  and  used  to  beat  the  stubborn  soil, 
Yet  other  ways  to  win  reward  from  toil 
He  knows  and  teaches  to  the  yeomen  round, 
Who  still  repeat  to-day  his  maxim   sound : 


70  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

"Have  arrows,  more  than  one,  in  your  quick  quiver, 

Or  in  want's  cold  winds  you  may  come  to  shiver." 

In  his  own  ire,  kept  he  irons  hot  afire 

And    with    them    fortune    fuller   did   acquire, 

Fair  fruit  of  energy  and  competing  skill, 

With  power  as  rare  and  wonder-working  will. 

He  valued  wealth  and  knowledge  high,  as  ends, 

Who  to  life's  gains  and  best  awards  pretends. 

He  stands  capacious,  massive  in  his  might, 

In  many  fields,  to  labor  till  the  night; 

His  errant  ends  with  diligence  to  attain, 

Till  here  came  life's  reaped  rest  and  rare  refrain. 

MRS.  LUCY  CAMP  ELLIOTT-HALE. 

December  9,  1799 — July  4,  1891. 

Where  Durham's  hills  advance  to  meet  the  sky 

And  verdure,   far   extending,   greets   the  eye, 

Where  vale  and  stream  and  quietness  give  peace, 

She  entered  life  and  saw  her  years  increase ; 

There  saw  her  use  and  happiness  unfold, 

Entered  upon  new  life  and  joys  untold. 

As  mother  then,  affectionate  to  please, 

Saw  sons  and  daughter  grow  around  her  knees; 

Saw  them  depart  and  multiply  her  ties, 

As  generations  new,  with  years  arise. 

Nature  gifted  her  royally  with  sense 

And  feeling  soul  and  well  her  recompense 

Of  love  to  those,  who  shared  a  goodly  part, 

They  knew  when  close  she  clasped  them  to  her  heart. 

Her  faith  within,  based  not  on  things  without, 

Was  not  dismayed  nor  lost  in  reason's  doubt; 

The  rest  and  solace  of  her  closing  years, 

It  sweetened  age  and  calmed  its  final  fears. 

Her   useful,   happy,   active  life  and  brave 

Is  treasured,  nor  abandoned  to  the  grave. 


LEWIS    R.    ELLIOTT. 


ALDERBROOK  71 

COLONEL  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  FOOTE* 

January  8,  1790— September  5,  1878. 
As  we  remember,  in  his  elder  prime, 
He  stood  on  double  shores  of  sea  and  time. 
Before  him  stretched  the  ocean  main  of  one, 
Behind  him  lay  the  course  of  life,  outrun. 

A  native  majesty  full-cloaked  him  round 
With  aspect  of  experience  profound : 
The  furrowed  cheeks,  the  whitened  locks  and  air 
Of   ripe  intelligence   and  knowledge  there: 
While  all  the  tokens  of  an  ancient  grace 
Reflected  from  the  kind,  benignant  face. 

With  stored,  sagacious  and  historic  mind, 
He  followed  up  what  our  explorers  find; 
But  in  the  present  crisis  chiefly  dwelt 
And  here  let  his  just  influence  be  felt. 

He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  general  state 
And  on  occasion  went  to  legislate. 
Of  Church,  the  warden  and  the  State  defended : 
Through  daughters  and  the  sons  in  war  contended. 

We  saw  him,  now  at  church,  then  on  the  street, 
And  stopped  with  simple  courtesy  to  greet: 
Or  grouped  about  the  blazing  fire  we  sat 
And  listened  oft,  attentive  to  his  chat; 
In  low  and  mellow,  measured  tones  it  falls, 
With  cadences,  that  memory  recalls. 

Where  homes  endear  and  shades  ancestral  blend, 
And    former    early   memories    attend, 
There,  near  the  hamlet  where  his  footsteps  trod, 
His   true  heart  rests   and   sanctifies  the   sod. 
*  Burial  in  Nut  Plains. 


72  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

ANDREW  WARD  FOOTE* 
April  25,  1833 — December  16,  1880. 
What  remnant  from  his  life's  short  finished  score 
Gives  impulse,  living  still,  though  he  no  more 
Unfolds  that  life  he  loved  in  ready  phrase, 
With  sparkling  eye,  in  words  of  other  days? 
A  man  who  thought  and  used  a  thinking  spade 
To  supplement  some  work  of  higher  grade; 
To  stand  athwart  his  mellow  acres  here, 
And  other  worlds  and  other  powers  revere; 
To  give   discourse,  good  geologic   drill, 
Show  how  the  world  was  made  on  Sandy  Hill. 
He  dearly  liked  an  argument  and  then 
Sent  views  to  Horace  Greeley  with  the  pen; 
Of  Clio's  band  and  loved  the  lettered  page, 
If  hid  was  found  behind  "The  Living  Age." 
In  others  now,  he  hides  himself  alive, 
Unfolding,  still  more  multiplied  to  thrive. 
Nature  made  him  manful,  in  mind  and  limb, 
Then  left  all  future  furnishing  to  him; 
He  took  in  hand  what  Nature  first  began 
And  made  a  thoughtful,  pleasing,  gentleman. 

MINER   FOWLER. 

May  20,  1800 — January  ii,  1869. 

His  tenor  tones  rise  lightly  on  the  air, 

As  now  again  we   seem  to  hear  him  there; 

The  form  has  stooped  to  time  with  yielding  grace, 

But  cheeriness  is  shining  in  the  face. 

His  home  lay  crested,  high  upon  the  hill 

Away;    itself  a  centre  of  good  will 

And  peace  to  man :    where  too  attractions  grew 

And  hung  abundant,  everybody  knew. 

*  Burial  in  Nut  Plains. 


ALDERBROOK  73 

Generations  held  this  high,  sequestered  seat 

And  round  it  from  afar  generations  meet; 

Who  loved  its  eminence  and  cooling  breeze; 

Here  grew  fruits  luscious,  full,  that  blushed  to  please, 

And  far  the  choicer  products  of  the  place 

Were  they  who  kept  the  merits  of  their  race 

And  faithfully  transmitted  down  the  line 

All  that  which  careful  culture  could  refine. 

So  gladly  here  would  we  all  restore  him, 

As  here  so  peaceful  on  through  life  he  bore  him, 

Till  worn  and  spent,  like  many  and  another, 

He  was  then  borne  away  by  Sleep's  twin  brother. 

MRS.  CHARITY  IVES  FOWLER. 

May  6,  1 80 1— October  12,  1888. 

The  gifts  to  give  delight,  she  had  from  birth; 

These  made  her  life  within  suit  life  on  earth. 

She  seized  upon  her  happy  days  with  joy 

And  gave  them  all  in  usefulness  employ. 

She  spoke  with  sprightly  speech  to  all  endearing, 

Her  manner  cordial  and  so  brightly  cheering, 

A  gleaming  forth  of  gladness   from  the  eye 

And   features   fair  all  lightened  to   reply. 

Upon  the  home  within  she  turned  her  will, 

Adorned  and  ordered  it  with  grace  and  skill, 

That  down  the  years  attaches  to  her  name 

Remembrances   of   early   housewife   fame. 

She  was  the  letter-writer,  all  complete, 

And  sent  them   forth   from  her  romanced  retreat, 

In  graceful  graphic,  true  demotic  hand, 

That  mistress  fair  should  of  fair  art  command. 

Her  joyous  spirit  overflowed  the  bounds, 

The  dearer  bounds  of  home  and  festive  rounds 

Of  gladsome  revelry  and  scenes  of  mirth, 

She  made  more  beautiful  and  bright  on  earth. 


74  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

WILLIAM  WARD  FOWLER* 

April  3,   1833 — August  21,   1879. 

To  us,  his  soulful  spirit  more  appealed 

Than  all  the  artifices  of  chill   Chesterfield. 

The  moment  we  recall  his  manly  form, 

He  reappears  again  with  impulse  warm 

And  throws  afar  to  us  a  kindly  greeting, 

Its  pleasure  still  in  memory  repeating. 

His  thoughtful  speech  much  brightened  Clio's  band 

That  argued  here  and  strove  to  understand 

A  thing  or  two,   beyond  their   Cadmus   letters, 

To    make    themselves    fit    comrades    for    their    betters. 

He  took  devout  and  earnest  hold  on  life 

And   entered   heartily   its   peaceful   strife; 

By  virtue's  side  to  stand,  stay  parson's  hand 

And  be  a  host  for  good,  in  our  loved  land. 

With  manly  mood  sincere,  he  thus  and  then 

Drew   forth  their  love  and  led  his   fellow  men ; 

Till  gathered  round  his  darkened  home,  one  day, 

Men,  bronzed  with  toil  and  women  in  dismay, 

The  aged  and  the  young,  from  far  and  near, 

And  bore  him  to  his  long  rest,  sacred  here. 

CAPTAIN  RICHARD  FOWLER. 

May  3,  1794 — May  6,  1881. 

He  was  a  genial  man  of  olden  time, 

Stalwart  of  frame,  surpassing  in  his  prime, 

And  then  the  brave  Light  Guard  as  Captain  led ; 

Protecting  here  the  living  and  the  dead. 

And  once  to  Lafayette  he  did  the  favor 

To  guide  him  down  from  high  Moose  hill  to  Havre ; 

Not  full  complete,  but  stopped  on  Guilford  Green 

To  show  the  natives  what  a  war  might  mean. 

And  when  sad  strife  came  on,  his  blood  and  brawn 

*  Burial  at  Moose  Hill. 


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ALDERBROOK  75 

Served  on  the  field  of  war  till  peaceful  dawn. 

His  tenor  tuned  the  choir  to  charm  with  song 

And  staunch  his  character  and  life  was  long. 

Hobson  was  Milton's  carrier,  this  man  mine, 

Close  linking  all  these  towns  ashore  in  line. 

The  Press  and  all  things  prayed  for  he  threw  out, 

Coming  and   going,   watched   for  on   the   route. 

Brave  and  hale-hearted,  kindly,  without  fears, 

He  dared  earth's  storms  and  tempests  four  score  years. 

His  form,  so  well  imprinted  on  our  day, 

Seems  to  us  still  slow  moving  o'er  the  way. 

ELLIOTT  WYLLYS   GREGORY. 

February  13,  1794 — July  3,  1863. 

Charming  in  youth  he  must  have  been  and  fair, 

But  far  more  manly  and  more  gracious,  where 

We  saw  him  in  the  westside  happy  home, 

When,  cultured  much  with  years,  he  ceased  to  roam 

And  brought  that  full,  free  elegance  of  life, 

That  he  had  won  with  years  of  toil  and  strife, 

In  southern  mart  of  mercantile  exchange, 

Where*  proud  the  Mississippi's  waters  range. 

His  manful  face  refinement  stamped  and  look 

Of  character  and  honor  true  quick  took 

Our  youthful  fancy;    what  lessons,  knowing 

Or  unknowing,  did  we  learn,  when  going 

To  this  knight  who  played  his  knight  so  shrewdly; 

And  showed  a  style  we  have  copied  rudely. 

Himself  and  mother  still  were  passing  fair, 

A  precious,  noble  and  resemblant  pair; 

She  an  Elliott  born  and  benign  to  greet, 

In  whom  some  atoms  of  the  Apostle  meet. 

His  fellowship  and  cheer  at  times  we  shared 

Who  here,  to  storm  and  cold,  his  brow  has  bared. 

*  New  Orleans. 

5 


76  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.    CHARLOTTE   SELLECK   GREGORY. 

September  15,  1818 — October  27,  1895. 

A  graceful  form  before  us  risen  stands, 

And  gladly  would  we  wait  for  her  commands; 

Whose  youth,  engirt  in  some  fair-fitting  bodice, 

Might  model  art  and  pattern  Grecian  goddess. 

Like  Spartan  matron,  firm,  sagacious,  wise, 

Then  gentle,  generous,  her  virtues  rise 

And  clothe  anew  her  hidden  charms  with  wealth 

Of  graces  sweet,  in  comeliness  and  health. 

Her  life,  in  large  and  liberal  action,  lay 

And  thought  for  others  made  her  happy  day. 

Hours,  shared  with  her,  in  full  and  musing  measures, 

Now  rise  again  as  well-remembered  treasures. 

If  all  too  lightly  valued  then,  indeed, 

How  now,  to   richest  interest  succeed ! 

To  soothe  the  sick,  she  kindly  went  about 

And  gave  her  rare  remedial  presence  out, 

And  then,  to  hear  her  soft,  low  woman's  voice 

Did  gladden  homes  and  heavy  hearts  rejoice. 

The  circled  dust,  in  which  she  now  reclines, 

She  makes  significant  and  much  refines. 

GEORGE  CLEVELAND  GRISWOLD. 

October  31,  1809 — February  8,  1906. 

His  genial  courtesy,  instinctive,  true, 
And  kindling  ardor,  spirited,  we  knew, 
And  social  mood  to  mix  with  other  minds, 
Resolved  to  change  his  thoughts  for  other  kinds. 
Leader  and  counselor,  in  our  civil  life, 
Moderating  our  order  through  party  strife. 
And  eminent,  in  ways  and  means  advising, 
His  lengthened  days  near  a  century  comprising. 
Direct  and  forward  were  the  ways  he  sought: 


ALDERBROOK  77 

Shrewd  and  divining  was  his  native  thought. 

He  would  not  grieve  nor  readily  offend. 

For  e'en  his  stalwart  presence  showed  the  friend. 

A  noble  form,  as  there  alone  he  lay, 

In  solitude,  on  his  own  burial  day; 

Engirt  by  friends  and  love  in  last  adieu, 

With  reverent  spoken  words,  sublime  and  true. 

However  Nature  wills,  we  can  but  weep 

When  the  centurial  loved  one  falls  on  sleep. 

And  bears  the  treasures  of  abandoned  times, 

The  index  of  its  lore,  to  secret  climes. 

MRS.  JULIA  CHAPMAN  GRISWOLD. 

June  4,   181 1 — April  3,   1898. 

And  here  a  model  mother  at  her  rest 

In  this  deep,  narrow  portion  of  earth's  breast, 

Where  she  has  come,  silent  and  long  to  lie, 

With  yonder  village,  forms  another  tie. 

And  crowning  memories   of   fourscore  years, 

More  glad  with  joys  than  grieved  by  sorrow's  tears, 

Adorn  a  life,  devoted,  fond  and  true, 

That  deeds  of  mercy,  love  and  duty  knew. 

The  memory  of  her  spirit  still  survives 

And  fans  the  spirit-fire  of  friendly  lives, 

Mid  gleams  of  shining  soul  and  cloudless  brow, 

Reflections  of  once  heart-warm  greetings  now. 

The  firm  and  faithful  friendships,  nurtured  thei^, 

Where  smiles  and  welcomes  warm  life's  joys  declare, 

These  tempering  sorrow,  we  do  not  forget, 

Their  condolence  and  comfort,  ease  regret. 

"Shining  visitant,"  radiant  and  rare  heart, 

Fond,  faithful  and  devoted  in  thy  part; 

Here  tones,  more  tender  than  the  passing  bell, 

Have   sounded  with   reluctance  thy  farewell. 


78  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

LEWIS  GRISWOLD. 

February  13,  1805 — November  5,  1882. 
Compact  of  form,  composed  with  strength  reserved, 
His  forces  he  had  used  and  yet  preserved. 
With  manly  vigor,  the  ancestral  stock 
Had  fortified  him  firm  to  meet  life's  shock. 
He  nurtured  acres  here  that  nurtured  him 
And  made  rare  specimen  of  manly  limb. 
Children   fearless   dwelt  beneath  his   arm, 
And  forth  on  danger  looked  without  alarm. 
How  did  he  please  our  almost  childish  glee 
With  his  deep  voice  attuned  to  harmony! 
Pitched,  where  the  breezes  fall  upon  the  hill, 
And  with  sweet  sighs,  the  summer  evening  fill. 
Those  tuneful  days  of  flute  and  violin 
Still  make   echoes  of  cadences  within. 
In  his  demeanor  calm,  his  prudence  shone ; 
And  others  throve  on  his  just  wisdom,  known. 
Now  to  the  legislature  forth  he  fares, 
Now  local  peace  and  justice,  he  declares. 
Life  ripened  full  of  fruitfulness  and  peace 
And  found  an  honored  haven  and  release. 

MRS.  LUCRETIA  LINSLEY  GRISWOLD. 

November  9,   1814 — November  4,    1888. 

How  put  into  colors,  too  few  and  faint, 

The  fine  native  graces  in  words  we  paint, 

Of  her,  whose  virtues  here  once  we  knew, 

Whose  womanly  merits  were  hid  from  few? 

She  herself  those  merits  could  not  conceal, 

A  certain  elegance  she  must  reveal; 

Not  due  to  shining  gauds,  for  few  she  wore, 

Her  treasures  shone  from  head  and  heart  the  more. 


ALDERBROOK  79 

Nature  dowered  her,  rich  with  reason,  sense, 
A  soul  for  song  with  wit  and  excellence ; 
Perception,  humor  ready  you  would  find, 
Her  fortune  was  to  have  the  Linsley  mind 
The  ribbon  on  her  bonnet  then  was  black, 
Signal  of  sorrow  flew  that  none  may  lack. 
Her  form  was  medium  and  trim  nor  bent, 
As  walking  down  the  path  alert,  she  went; 
Here  passed  her  hours  in  happy  lot,  serene, 
Took  part  and  share  in  all  that  life  can  mean. 
Our  gift  it  was  to  meet  her  in  those  days, 
To  hear  her  voice  and  chat  upon  the  ways. 

CAPTAIN  JOEL  GRISWOLD. 

February  27,  1796 — August  29,  1879. 

He  stood  engirt  with  might  like  fortress  strong, 
To  meet  with  resource  nature,  right  or  wrong. 
So  doubtful  in  the  earth  the  fate  of  seed, 
One  might  too  often  find  himself  in  need. 


*&' 


For  four  score  seasons  round,  his  chances  braved 
And  prudent  held,  what  from  the  earth  he  saved: 
When  utter  failing  crops  sometimes  besieged, 
He  bided  round  his  time  and  earth  obliged 
To  pay  up  shortages  and  past  arrears 
And  then,  with  new  assessments,  taxed  the  years. 

He  humanized  the  landscape,  spread  serene, 
That  painter  would  delight  to  make  a  scene 
And  hang  upon  the  wall :  when  war  arrived, 
He  sent  an  army  and  the  State  survived. 

Sturdy  in  form  and  stout  as  Saxon  thane, 
His  probity  much  straightened  Crooked  Lane. 
There  far  around  his  grassy  acres  ran, 
Meadows,  brooks,  walnut  grove,  where  rock  began. 


80  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Would  he  had  waited  for  the  years  awhile ! 
To  see  Dame  Fortune,  on  life's  evening,  smile; 
Daughters  and  sons,  to  higher  honors  grow, 
When  he  had  joined  this   company  below : 
Hear  his  own  voice  transformed  to  woman's  tone, 
Most  soulful  songster  that  our  vales  have  known. 

As   when   the    sun's    last   reddening   rays   at   eve 
Adorn  the   sky  and  coming  gloom   relieve, 
On   him,   these   full  reflecting  merits   shine 
And  to  his  dust,  our  grateful  hearts  incline. 

REVEREND  ELT  EDWIN  HALL. 
April  ii,  1818 — May  2,  1896. 

His  excellence  with  dowry,  rich  in  sample, 
Strove  with  us,  both  by  precept  and  example. 
More  merits  far  had  he  than  we  can  tell ; 
His  logic  knew  and  wrote  his  sermons  well. 
With  ready  wit,  in  eminent  degree, 
He  could  send  quick  the  flashing  repartee. 

This  talent,  safe  within  a  napkin  kept, 
As  prudence  warned,  there  dozed  but  never  slept. 
His  voice  was  tuneful,  rich  and  rare  to  hear ; 
In  scale  had  little  range,  but  reached  the  ear. 

A  thinker,  with  a  skillful,  ready  pen. 

He  made  the  pulpit  reverend,  and  then 

The  village   learning  viewed,  improved  its   stand, 

The  western  side  adorned  and  shaped  the  land. 

Thereafter,   a   minister,    for   years   abroad, 
He  served,*  in  Florence,  country  and  the  Lord. 

*  Minister  of  the  American  Chapel. 


REV.    E.    EDWIN    HALL. 


ALDERBROOK  8 1 

Between  his   life's  long  eve  and  its  brief  morn, 
His  versed  and  varied  skill  did  much  adorn. 
As  editor,  he  was  happy  and  content; 
Then  for  a  time  he  took  to  government. 

From  far  Geneva's  lake  and  storied  strand, 
He  had  brought  hither  to  our  western  land 
Accomplished  daughter  of  revered  Malan, 
To  enter  in  his   life  and  share  its  plan. 

Here  in  pastorate,   first  had  set  his   foot, 
When  he  came  to  move,  it  had  taken  root; 
Then,  at  the  journey's  end  of  life's  sweet  toil, 
He  chose  this  spot  to  mingle  with  our  soil. 

REVEREND  HENRY  LEWIS   HALL* 
November  26,  1835 — November  6,  1869. 

We  knew  the  time  when,  hearty  then  and  hale, 
He  trod  with  zeal  the  stately  walks  of  Yale 
And  with  the  fleetest  few  led  on  his  class, 
A  noble  band,  to  usefulness  to  pass. 

Then  war  arose  and  that,  within  massed  ranks, 
He  studied  on  the  field  and  heard  the  thanks 
Of   dying  men  and   shriving  comfort  gave 
When  battle  swept  them  to  a  soldier's  grave. 

Served  Chaplain  to  the  Tenth ;    in  our  rare  region 
More  known  than  Caesar's  tenth  Roman  legion ; 
There  fought  and  fell  the  knightly  soldier  Camp, 
Mate  from  the  shades  of  Yale  in  martial  tramp. 

*  Burial  in  Nut  Plains. 


82  MEAIORIAL  EPITAPHS 

To  learn  of  Tholuck  then  to  Halle  went 
And  passed  for  German  on  the  Continent; 
Of  wisdom  full,  and  learning  and  ideas, 
Who,   for  his  favored  future,  could  have  fears? 

So  haply  onward  ran  his  life  and  law 
Nor,  in  reviewing  it,  appears  the  flaw. 
Perchance  the  tented  field,  that  life  devours, 
Perchance  the  scholar's  wakeful,  midnight  hours, 
The  change  from  active  to  the  cloistered  life, 
The  peaceful  rivalry  of  student  strife, 
The  germs  of  lore  and  German  wisdom's  ways 
And   duties   of   some   pastoral,   later   days. 

In  vain  inquire :    let  memory  revive 
The  virile  virtues  that  he  kept  alive; 
His  eager,  earnest  manners  that  proclaim 
The  beauty  of  a  life  with  upward  aim. 


REV.    HENRY    L.    HALL. 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  ALDERBROOK. 

Part  VII :    Halleck — Munson. 


84  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

FITZ  GREENE  HALLECK. 

July  8,   1790 — November   19,   1867. 

The  elegance  of  youth  had  fared  away 
And  left  to  view  the  pathos  of  decay; 
And  yet  he  was  a  pleasing  figure  then 
And  walked,  a  daily  presence  among  men. 

Along  the  paths  beneath  the  elms,  he  knew 
When  both,   then   setting  out  together  grew, 
He  made  his  slow  and  punctual  promenade; 
His  body,  lithe  and  pliant,  slightly  swayed 
With  graces  and  the  purest  charm  of  motion : 
His  umbrella  comrade,  a  precious  notion. 

In  color  blue  it  was  a  faithful  limb 
And  blue   surtout   he   loved,  befriended  him. 
His  aged  silken  hat  decked  him  above; 
Such  was  the  poet's  figure,  one  to  love. 

In  truth,  he  wore  his  hat  out  here  a-bowing 
To  ladies  on  the  way;    never  allowing 
Winged  woman  to  pass  unsaluted  by; 
None  could  escape,  unnoticed  on  the  fly. 

His  voice  alas !    his  own,  he  scarce  could  hear, 
Its    emphasis,   though    full,    and   very   clear: 
In  conversation,  bright  the  cadence  fell, 
And  charmed  us,  for  he  talked  supremely  well. 
And  now  in  monologue,  while  standing  near, 
He  does  vouchsafe  to  us,  remarks  to  hear. 

When  wandering  alone,  he  oft  bespoke  himself 
In  undertones,  regardless  then  that  he  was  deaf. 
Sometimes  two   students  he  would  entertain, 
Ambitious,   calling  to  view  the  poet's  brain ; 


FITZ   GREENE    HALLECK. 


ALDERBROOK  85 

Quizzing  and  chatting  out  the  hour  to  see 
How   like   their  own   crude  craniums   his   could  be. 
Between  them  he  would  sit  to  hear  their  chat, 
But  fluent,  give  them  more  than  tit   for  tat. 

He  wrote  so  well,  to  such  a  slender  score 
That  few  have  failed  to  question,  why  not  more? 
Perchance  no  impulse  high  then  furnished  means, 
When  he  returned  to  scan  these  village  scenes. 

Infirmity  and  age  that  cools  the  fire 
Had  crept  upon  and  chilled  his  trembling  lyre. 
So  fain  is  one  to  trace  connecting  links 
With  all  our  life  who,  of  the  poet,  thinks. 

He  rose  out  of  our  better  golden  age, 
When  characters  superior  filled  the  stage. 
His  gifted  fancy  had  fed  richly  here 
Amidst  the  generation  we  most  revere. 


ov 


He  loved  the  land  and  lives  from  which  he  sprung, 
And  came  to  spend  his  lengthened  days  among. 
His   spirit  genial,  graceful,  gladsome,  kind, 
Was  quite  the  proper  partner  of  poetic  mind. 

MISS  MARIA  HALLECK. 

July  19,  1788 — April  21,  1870. 

Familiar  figure  to  our  early  sight, 
Until  upon  her  fell  the  darksome  night ; 
Close  comrade  to  the  poet's  daily  life, 
His  other,  second  breath  and  all  but  wife. 

Devotion   sisterly,  her  living  passion 
Had  its  one  alloy  of  respect  for  fashion. 
She  goes  in  bonnet  shirred  and  darkling  gown 
And  makes  a  tour  for  health  about  the  town. 


86  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

On  self-denial,  she  was  known  to  live 
And  life  itself  would  fain  the  poet  give. 
Devoutly  so,  she  did  devote  the  day 
To  cherish  him  in  woman's  winning  way. 
Her  choicest  virtues  all  on  him  she  tried, 
Then  summed  them  up  in  one,  in  him,  her  pride. 

A  story  teller,  she  much  amused  the  day, 
In  her  own  bright  and  entertaining  way; 
Whose  stories,  now  revived,  still  go  the  rounds, 
Presenting  rural  phases,  sights  and  sounds. 
Girlish  urchins  would  oft  toast  poet's  bread 
While  Miss  Maria's  needle  flew  with  thread. 

From  early  life  as  comrades  sharing  all 

As  one,  the  dance  at  ordination  ball, 

Our  Johnson's  lexicon,  when  time  flew  faster, 

On  from  the  early  days  of  Baldwin,  Pastor; 

His   confidant,   in  life's  pathetic   scenes, 

Performing  miracles  with  magic  means, 

With  life  she  faithful  covered  life's  retreat, 

Mourned  for  him  awhile,  then  went  forth  to  meet. 

COLONEL  WILLIAM  HART. 

May  5,  1788 — August  18,  1862. 

Far  down  the  way,  where  Whitfield  homeward  trod, 
He  dwelt  midst  shadows  of  that  man  of  God. 
His  form  erect  stood  soldierly  upright, 
In  manners,  bearing,  breeding,  full  polite. 
In  worthy  ways,  his  ardor,  zeal  and  passion 
Made  him  a  model  of  the  best  old  fashion. 
With   stately  walk,   saluting  all  with   ease, 
With  spirit,  but  not  difficult  to  please; 
Few  graceful  arts,  as  our  cold  habits  yield, 
He  came  the  nearest  to  our   Chesterfield. 


ALDERBROOK  87 

In  times  of  peace  ordained  himself  to  war ; 
Was  bulwark,  at  all  hazards,  of  the  law. 
He  favored  freedom,  fair  in  every  station, 
And  at  times,  in  the  crises  of  the  nation, 
He  took  the  more  pronounced,  advancing  view, 
Preferring  most  old  things  instead  of  new. 
In  State  and  Church,  he  forward  led  the  van 
And  influence  wielded  as  a  foremost  man. 
There  moves   his   figure,   stately  down  the   lane, 
High  hat,  frock  coat,  cheeks  whiskered  and  a  cane! 

MISS  RUTH   HART. 

July   20,    1819 — May   6,    1905. 

Like  vestal  virgin  fair,  she  fed  life's  fire, 

While  long  and  bright  it  burned  with  warm  desire. 

And  here  ofttimes  we  met  her  flashing  eye 

And   laughing  voice   and  charming  coquetry, 

As   queenly  over   all   her   look   she   threw 

And  rose  in  her  rare  comeliness,  to  view 

And   stood   so   royal,   resolute   and   grand, 

So  capable  of  firm  and  cool  command; 

As  filled  with  thoughts  of  daring  deeds,  heroic, 

As  formed  to  buffet  Fate  and  play  the  Stoic. 

For  years,  in  calm  and  quietude,  she  dwelt 

Apart  and  by  her  lonely  altar  knelt, 

Until  life's  evening  shades  around  her  drew, 

Who  had  outlived  all  friends  she  ever  knew. 

What  if  no  bold  and  daring  deed  was  hers? 

What  if  the  happiness  that  life  confers, 

Was  checked  by  fickle  fortune's  froward  fate? 

None  heard  her  ever  life  and  love  berate. 

If   not   the   noblest   Roman   of   us   all, 

At  least  the  Roman,  she  shall  well  recall. 


88  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

GEORGE  HILL.* 

January  29,  1796 — December  15,  1871. 

His  image  marks  the  corner  he  passed  by, 
With   aspect,    fair   as   gentle   woman's   eye, 
And  still  that  image  casts  his  look  across 
The  gulf  of  years   and  scarcely  suffers  loss. 

He  had  the  poet's  fertile,  fancied  graces 
And  a  world  of   royal,  palaced  places 
Whence  he  freely  sought  our  sphere  of  action 
That  had,  for  him,  an  early  loved  attraction. 

His  humor,  playful,  entertaining,  bright, 
Striving  to  shorten  long  cold  winter's  night, 
Was  loving,  kind,  nor  caustic  and  severe; 
He  lost  no  labor  to  correct  us  here. 

He  dressed  thought  chastely,  decking  it  beside, 
With  fitting  memories  of  knowledge  wide, 
As  caught  from  life  perhaps  or  pondered  dreamingly, 
When  poets  wander  wide  and  create  seemingly: 
But,  we  suspect,  catch  wide-awake  impressions, 
Got  in  phrenzied  thought,  as  by  their  confessions ; 
If  we  can  really  trust  such  unreal  creatures, 
Never  new  made,  but  full  born,  to  their  features. 

Now  we  may  merely  quote  his  shy,  dark  eye, 
Commend  and  recommend  his  poetry; 
Much  lost  and  unknown,  to  our  careless  wit, 
Though   we   ourselves  are  not  unknown  to  it. 


'to1 


Which,  native  quite  and  springing  from  our  leas, 
Should  be  as  dear  as  much  from  over  seas. 
Its  only  blight  and  blur — 'tis  understood 
By  any  common  man  or  woman-hood. 

♦Burial  in  New  Haven. 


ALDERBROOK  89 

Here  indeed,  his  verses  grew  and  fruited 
In  our  woods  and  streaming  vales,  all  suited 
To  his   dreaming  eyes,  in  visions  on  them  bent 
And  these,  the  messages,  through  him  they  sent. 

His  fancy  led  him  late  to  new  persuasion ; 
For  to  the  poet's  sense  much  gives  occasion, 
Found  in  pictured  walls,  rich  garb  and  function, 
That  causes  in  the  soul  some  richer  unction. 

Far  had  he  wandered  and  seen  other  climes 
And,  with  native  perfumes,  mixed  foreign  thymes ; 
Had  looked  upon  the  classic  Grecian  shores 
And  mingled  with  his  thought  Aegean  stores. 

His  last  days  here  in  earned  retirement  ran, 
A  very  cultured,  rare  and  gentle  man. 
His  slender  form,  surtouted  and  capped  head, 
Filled  with  the  fancies  that  his  footsteps  led, 
Looking  with  shy  but  sympathetic  glance, 
At  labors  rude  that  our  slow  wealth  enhance, 
He  lived  and  loved  this  quiet,   restful  place 
And   decked  it  with  the  charms   of  poet's  grace. 

MRS.  REBECCA  RUGGLES  HOPKINS. 

June   14,   1818 — February   13,   1886. 

Her  favored,  fair  young  girlhood  here  was  spent, 

Where  life's  resources  large  to  her  were  lent; 

And  gracious  influences,  all  moulding  well, 

In  those  short,  happy  years  with  her  did  dwell. 

An  ardent  fancy  full  to  her  was  sent 

And  fearless  courage  was  with  graces  blent; 

If  need  of  spirit,  confident  and  high, 

On  this,  in  storm  and  stress,  she  could  rely. 

Commanding,  womanly  and  fair  to  see, 


90  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

With  virtues,  crowning  all  in  harmony. 

From  early  home  removed,  then  late  returned 

And  sons  and  daughters  from  her  wisdom  learned. 

So  we  beheld  for  years  her  gracious  sway 

And  there  formed  lasting  friendships  in  that  day. 

While  time  flew  on,  in  larger,  distant  field, 

Daughters  and  sons,  in  higher  function,  yield 

Service  with  honor,  public  and  approved, 

So  well  her   spirit  had  to  them  removed. 

Till  life's  fair   faithful  zeal   and  courage  fly 

From  form,  once  filled  with  joy  and  impulse  high. 

MISS    RUTH    FRAZER    HOPKINS. 

August  28,  1856 — August  27,  1902. 

A  little  maiden,  sunning  in  the  way, 
Was  used  to  greet  me,  stopping  in  her  play. 
She  grew  up  blooming  and  then  left  the  street, 
And  thereafter  we  could  less  often  meet. 
Her  gentle  spirit,  gladsome  and  sincere, 
Dwelt  in  the  slender  body,  treasured  here, 
Whose  converse,  winsomeness  and  joyous  smile 
Did  oft  those  former  days  and  years  beguile. 
With  joy  and  spicy  mirth  she  lit  her  face, 
That  had  a  sweet,  unconscious,  winning  grace. 
Her  bright  and  artless  ways  had  so  much  art 
To  make,  command  and  keep  a  friendly  heart. 
And  yet  with  all  those  years  of  gentle  glee, 
I  knew  not  what  that  pleasure  was  to  me. 
But  now,  vain,  longing  wishes  follow  after 
The  greeting,  the  handclasp  and  gleeful  laughter. 
This  sacred  spot  of  earth  becomes  more  dear, 
Since  she  returned  to  make  her  long  home  here. 
How  deep  that  final,  wakeless  sleep  must  be, 
From  which  no  winning  word  comes  back  to  me! 


ALDERBROOK  9 1 

DEACON  ALFRED  GUSTAVUS  HULL. 

May   12,   1822 — January  31,   1894. 

He  had,  for  all,  the  grace  of  siren  speech. 
We  should  love  inly  near  his  life  to  reach, 
To  bring  more   fully  out,  before  us  here, 
Those  qualities,  we  most  in  men  revere ; 
Of  which,  he  seemed  to  be  so  well  possessed, 
That  now  we  might  ourselves  in  them  invest; 
Such  probity  as  wins  all  suffrage  near, 
Such  honor,  high  as  marks  the  man,  sincere, 
Such  courtesy,  as  smooths  the  burdened  way; 
Not  merely  with  worn  words,  to  think  and  say, 
But  often  with  due  deeds  of  action  too. 
And  all  of  these  from  him  indeed,  we  knew. 
We   saw  him  long,  as  pillar   in  the   Church, 
Not  ornamental,  lost  in   skilled  research, 
But  active  to  uphold  and  strengthen  there 
Forces,  the  Master's  life  and  this  declare. 
Places  of  trust  he  held,  was  host  for  friends ; 
He  lived  and  made,  for  being  born,  amends. 
Yet  much  remains  and  is  unmentioned  here 
And,  last  of  all,  to  us  the  man  was  dear. 

MRS.  MARY  PARMELEE  HULL. 

May  18,  1823 — December  3,  1887. 

In  home,  attractive  to  the  passing  glance, 
Adorned   with   vines   and   flowering  elegance, 
That  blossomed  into  brightness  to  illume, 
She  did  the  sweeter  joys  of  life  assume 
And   shed   within   a   radiance   refined, 
Surpassing  quite   all   that   without  combined. 
The  friendly  mistress,  who  so  long  received, 
Success  in  helpful,  social  life  achieved. 
A  flock  of  parsons  here  would  gather  round ; 


92  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

The  house  with  wit  and  laughter  must  resound: 
Then,  glad  and  gleeful  singers  would  convene 
And  fill  with  song  some  interval  between. 
In  public  labors  often  she  did  shine, 
Kind  helpfulness  and  love  were  in  her  line. 
She  lived  to  school  and  discipline  her  life: 
Some  perquisites  she  held  as  deacon's  wife, 
However,  these  make  her  more  saintly  shine 
Her  true  life  aimed  as  well  at  the  divine. 
Such  the  outline  briefly  of  one  we  knew, 
And  would  bring  back  again  to  fairer  view. 

HORATIO  NELSON  JOHNSON. 

August  21,  1799 — September  6,  1882. 

In  life's  bright  morn  he  was  supremely  fair, 

For  manly  strength  and  elegance  were  there; 

As  on  he  fared,  Time's  sure  rebuffs  and  toil 

And  our  east  winds  could  not  his  youth  despoil. 

His   form  erect  and  color  clear  persisted 

On   through   life   and   havoc   well   resisted. 

He  was   replete  with   early   local  lore, 

And  loved  to  tell  what  he  should  see  no  more ; 

The  old  buffet,  the  dip,  the  two-wheeled  chaise 

And  the  moderation  of  the  elder  days. 

Many  an  hour,  we  sat  beside  the  green 

While  he  related  what  old  times  might  mean: 

The  stubbed  stones  that  rose  above  the  ground, 

The  church  with  cornices,  low  towered  around, 

The  milkweed  and  the  kindred  kine  and  sheep 

That  in  those  days  the  Green  could  careless  keep; 

Using  for  pointer  then  the  friendly  cane, 

To  indicate  old   features  that   remain. 

So  cheerful  did  he  chat  until,  one  day, 

This  friend  of  youth  and  yore  was  borne  away. 


JUDGE    GEORGE    LANDON. 


ALDERBR00K  93 

GEORGE  CHAPMAN  KIMBERLEY. 

January  i,  1832 — November  29,  1892. 

From  morn  till  eve,  he  journeyed  to  and  fro, 
Just  such  a  man  as  every  child  would  know; 
Himself,  so  friendly  frank  and  quick  to  greet, 
It  gave  the  moment  pleasure  just  to  meet. 
His  virtues,  grafted  from  ancestral  tree, 
For  manly  gentleness,  were  rare  to  see; 
That  rare  parental,  genial  grace  we  saw 
That  grew  in  him  till  it  became  a  law. 
The  smiling  face,  the  beaming  eye,  the  word, 
The  waiting  grasp  we  saw  and  felt  and  heard. 
At  church  we  met  them,  where  he  faithful  served 
And  staunchly  those  yet  higher  laws  observed, 
Which  ranking  with  the  spirit's  choicest  treasures, 
Give  grace  and  peace  divine  and  mercy  measures ; 
There,  warden  of  the  ways  that  lead  to  rest 
And  call  up  voiceless  visions  of  the  blest. 
His  life,  like  bright  and  happy  morning,  beamed, 
From  storm  and  disappointment,  well  redeemed. 
The  air  grew  chill,  when  forth  his  spirit  went, 
The  day  turned  dark  when  Death  his  arrow  sent. 

JUDGE  GEORGE  LANDON. 

August   10,   1787 — October  8,   1866. 

His  form   full,  magisterial  and  rare, 
In  grand  old  manhood  stood  before  us  there. 
All  marks  of  his  due  dignities  he  wore 
In  honors  and  life  labors,  gone  before. 
Of  legislative  rank  and  race  he  seemed, 
A  senator*  of  State :   but  if  one  deemed 
Him  to  be  judge,  that  too  he  was,  and  signs 
Judicial  shone  forth  clearly  in  designs 
Of  wisdom,  justice  held  at  mercy's  call. 

*  State  senator  in  1850. 


94  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

In  white  cravat  and  whitened  hair  and  tall, 

He  came  majestic  up  the  central  aisle 

To  church ;    and  then  we  wondered  quick  the  while, 

Why  he,  who  looked  so  preacher-like  and  sage, 

Did  not  proceed  like  priest*  upon  the  stage 

And  turn  out  minister,  senator  and  judge; 

An  exchange,  neither  priest  nor  pope  should  grudge. 

And  still  from  civic  and  judicial  lines 

Reversion   of   this   worth   and  merit   shines 

Upon  the  noble  manhood  we  revere 

Whose  excellence,  bequeathed,   continues  here. 

MRS.   RUTH   HART   LANDON. 

January   14,   1790 — April  23,   1855. 

This  spacious,  full-enfolding,  featured  face 
Gives  trusty  tokens  of  a  regnant  race; 
And  brings  to  us  from  former  days  the  claim 
To  be  remembered,  of  a  noble  dame. 
Some  here  have  seen  her  stately  step  and  knew 
The  just,   aspiring  pride,   that  gives  the  clue 
To  that  array  of  virtues,  rich  and  rare, 
Which  bore  her  buoyant  through  this  vale  of  care. 
Yet  other   Ruths,   abundant  have  we  known, 
With  Thomases,  whose  merits  were  her  own, 
And  others  equal  here  have  gathered  round 
With  reverent  thrill  to  tread  above  her  ground. 
The  years  have  waned  since  she  ambitious  led 
The  fortunes  of  this  happy  house  as  head, 
Upheld  its  lofty  aims,  its  master  cheered, 
Bore  manly  sons  and  matron  daughters  reared. 
We  share  to-day  in  that  true,  princely  pride, 
Which   generations   here   have   close   allied 
And  would   record  the  glories  of   a   race, 
To  which,   time   swiftly  brings  increasing  grace. 
*He  was  so  invited  by  clerical  strangers. 


MRS.    RUTH    HART    LANDON. 


ALDERBROOK  95 

THOMAS  HART  LANDON. 

April   15,   1831 — December  3,   1882. 

He  could  but  be  beloved  in  life  where  known 
And  where  from  youth  his  excellences  shone, 
In   deeds   of   loving  kindness,   day  by  day, 
As  he  passed  us  observant  on  his  way. 
He  saw  his  chance,  where  froward  fortune  struck, 
To  ease  distresses  and  reverse  ill  luck : 
To   repel  the  trembling  terrors   of   despair 
By  serving  an  apt  turn  of  kindness  there. 
His  life,  in  halls  of  justice,  he  devotes 
And  ends  of  right  and  merit,  so  promotes. 
He  grew  not  callous  there,  from  use  and  wont 
Of  wrong,  woe's  injury  and  fate's  affront; 
But,  broad  with  years,  his  sympathies  still  grew 
And  still  to  right  the  wrong  he  strove  anew ; 
Fair  truth  divined  with  penetrating  glance, 
Made  it  emerge  from  snares  and  error's  chance. 
Thus,  ever  shining,  as  a  spirit  fairly  might, 
With  native  humor  blest  to  give  delight, 
He  drew  us  to  him,  where  his  presence  shone, 
And  raised  our  courage  by  his  cheering  tone. 

JUDGE  EDWARD  RUGGLES  LANDON. 
May  31,  1813— July  25,  1883. 
In  martial  cloak,  a  Wellington,  he  stands, 
That  swinging  round  his  ample  form  commands 
And  spotless  garb  and  genial  air,  combined, 
Betoken  well  his   leaning  to  mankind. 

Our  ruling  Edward  First,  the  ruddy  face 
Shows  Griswold,  Graves  and  Ruggles  in  the  race. 
In  life,  our  governor,  almost  patroon, 
His  guidance  was,  for  many  years,  a  boon; 


96  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

For  much,  in  village  matters,  did  he  move, 
With  precious,  private  wills  for  us  to  prove; 
Then  public  deeds  and  dooms  to  next  record, 
For  which  abundant  thanks  but  light  reward. 

He  met  responsive,  threw  his  humor  out 
Perchance  to  church,  to  office  and  about; 
Then  calms   disorder  rare   at  township  meetings, 
And  chokes  our  clamor  down  with  gavel  greetings. 

With  wave  of  hand  or  look  from  friendly  eye 
Could  order  more  than  sheriff  standing  by. 
As  senator  of  State  he  ran  but  rare 
To  serve  a  state  with  capitol  to  spare. 

See  him,   a   moment,   as   we   say   farewell ! 
The  fine,  fair  figure  that  the  cloak  doth  swell; 
The  form,  full  spectacled,  here  comes  fast  striding, 
High  hat,  quick  step,  then  away  moves  gliding. 

Recollections   of   hearty   happy   humor 
Pleasant  mention  offered  by  dare-dame  Rumor 
And  gentle  thoughts,  out-blooming  summer  roses, 
With  fond  regrets  now  mark  where  he  reposes. 

MRS.  PARNEL  CLARISSA  LANDON. 

September  21,  1819 — April  25,  1886. 

With  joy  she  brimmed  and  glad  with  life  ran  over, 
As  fed  on  blossomings  of  blooming  clover. 
Courageous   and  capacious,   she  was   formed, 
A  lover  of  the  sunlight;    but  if  it  stormed, 
For  storm  cared  not  but  looked  the  winds  in  face, 
Before  them  smiled  and  laughed  at  their  embrace. 
She  loved  sweet  life  and  took  the  years  for  gift 
And  filled  them,  as  they  sped,  with  joy  and  thrift. 
Then  fed  her  house  on  dainties,  very  choice, 


JUDGE    EDWARD   R.    LANDON. 


ALDERBROOK  97 

With  all  the  skill  that  makes  the  health  rejoice. 

She  was  a  paragon,  in  that  skilled  way. 

As  we  recall  her  and  as  others  say. 

Her  eyes  with  glee  flashed  dark,  then  lightened, 

And  she  could  not  be  surprised  nor  frightened. 

She  entertained  the  governor,  not  dismayed, 

If  things  quite  lightsome  turned  her  out  less  staid. 

She  started  laughters  round,  provoked  the  smile, 

And  ethers  so  were  much  amused  the  while. 

At  last  her  home  was  broken  and  bereft 

And  then  this  narrow  house  alone  was  left. 

MISS  EUNICE  ELIZABETH  LAY. 

April  16,   1828 — June  14,   1903. 

June's  gusty  gale  has  blown  her  out.  at  last, 
Whose  lamp  of  life  for  years  has  flickered  fast; 
Now  burning  low,  now  brightly  shining  here, 
In  radiance  rare,  spirituelle  and  clear. 
In  frailest  tenement,  she  fragile  dwelt 
Serene  nor  heavy  clogs  of  body  felt: 
So  freed  from  all  that  weights  the  spirit  down, 
She  was  as  ransomed,  wearing  here  her  crown. 
No  sleepy,  slothful,  hermit  life  she  led, 
But  friendly,  cheering  influence  she  shed : 
Read  and  thoughtful  wrote,  as  fancy  played, 
While,  here  on  earth,  her  pilgrimage  she  made ; 
Voyaged  afar,  found  broken  links  in  lives 
And  rescued  some  lost  learning  that  survives. 
Outbranching  from  romantic  family  tree, 
John  Alden's  and  Priscilla's  daughter,  she. 
Such  spirit,  shining  forth,   fair  Mistress  Lay 
Preserved  the  graces  of  Priscilla's  day : 
And  speeds  now  on,  this  vision  of  her  left 
To  light  and  cheer  and  solace  us  bereft. 


9 8  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

HENRY  LOPER. 

January  24,  1791 — February  21,  1873. 

He  moves  amidst  confused  and  warring  sounds, 
Their  mingled  tumult,   jarring  with   rebounds. 
And  where  his  constant,  watchful  duty  lies, 
The   whitened   mist,   encircling   round   him   flies. 
Above,  below,  the  waters,  playful  pour, 
Dashing,  in  idleness,  with  deepened  roar. 
A  master,  in  the  mart  of  corn  and  grains, 
In  faithful,  life-long  service,  he  remains; 
And   far  around,   the   generations   knew 
Where  honesty  and  honor  upright  grew. 
Consistence   and   devotion   were   his    forte ; 
All  conscious  goodness  found  in  him  a  port. 
Three  decades,  senior  warden  of  Christ  Church, 
He  trains  his  children  all,  in  biblical  research. 
His  form  was  slender,  features  placid,  fair ; 
Of   far  past  Spanish  annals  was  the  heir. 
Through  stranger  turns  of  fortune,  than  he  knew, 
This   noble   heritage   from   Spain   he   drew. 
Though  long  removed,  here  still  his  virtues  shine, 
In  fair  resemblance,  human  of  divine. 

MRS.    ANNA    FOWLER    LOPER. 

December  10,  1793 — February  3,  1863. 

Where  verdure  crowns  the  hill,  where  once  the  moose 

Came  down  from  far  to  seek  the  water's  use, 

She  drew  her  early  influence  in  life 

And  thence  went  forth  to  be  the  friend  and  wife. 

Four  decades  swift  have  passed  away  and  more 

Since,  here  she  spoke  us  kindly  at  her  door. 

A  finely  featured  and  full-figured  soul, 

Who  dwelt  on  earth  and  made  of  heaven  her  goal; 


ALDERBROOK  99 

By  her  devotion,  true  to  Christian  thought, 
And  by  the  aid  to  suffering,  she  brought, 
With  gifts  of  helpfulness  and  motherhood 
That  she  diffused  around  in  doing  good. 
To  love  the  hearth  and  home,  her  children  led 
With  influence,  refined  from  Christian  head. 
And  when  the  Sabbath,  calm  and  restful,  came, 
Gave  time  and  thought  to  the  most  holy  name. 
Devoted  to  the  service  of  the  Church 
Nor  ever   left  "the  Bishop"*  in  the  lurch : 
Co-workers  in  the  temple  of  the  Lord, 
She  earned  and  now  has  long  received  reward. 

ERASTUS  MUNSON. 

June  io,  1816 — March  19,  1886. 

Unruffled  and  composed,  he  comes  to  greet, 
His  judgment  just,  generous  and  discreet. 
Of  nature  provident  to  seize  the  hour 
And  bid  fair  Fortune  to  obey  his  power. 
With  resource  full  and  lavish  of  his  store, 
Humane  and  kind  to  friendless  at  the  door. 
He  knew  earth's  joys  that  sorrow  oft  completes 
And  suffering  quick  with  sympathy  meets. 
Sweet  fruits  and  flowers  and  shadowing  trees 
And  early  morn  he  loved,  and  evening  breeze. 
His  form,  compact  with  strength  and  manly  might, 
Like  fortress  stood  to  fend  and  fold  his  right. 
At  home,  his  sunny  rays  made  darkness  bright, 
His  laughing  mood  turned  trouble  to  delight. 
And  virtues,  mildly  blooming  day  by  day, 
Bestowed  more  cheering  than  exotic  ray. 

* 

*  Miss  Clarissa  Caldwell,  playfully  called  "bishop." 

6 


100  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Beloved  of  those  who  his  calm  reason  knew, 
He  lived  in  peace  and  counted  friends  not  few. 
So  fair  and  well  life  ripened  to  its  close, 
To  three  score  years  and  ten  and  then  repose. 

MRS.  ANN  ELIZABETH  MUNSON. 

February  28,   1828 — September   12,    1901. 

In  form  she  rose,  full  fair  and  ample  tall 
With  look  benign  and  with  sweet  graces  all, 
There  beaming  forth  to  greet  and  welcome  give: 
So  we  recall  her,  who  so  well  did  live 
And  bore  her  quiet  part  in  village  life 
With  helpful  hand,  an  active  mother,  wife 
And  friend,  in  ways  diverse  to  all  but  sure 
And  such  for  long  her  memory  will  endure. 
Time  kindly  gave  her  youth  in  age  to  keep, 
Hope,  cheer  and  other  fruits  of  youth  to  reap; 
Nor  care  did  bend  her  form  nor  dim  her  glance 
Nor  could  disguise  her  native  elegance. 
To  son  and  daughter  she  like  sister  seems 
So  sharing  all  their  younger  daring  dreams; 
So   full  of  merriment  and  bright  good  cheer, 
While   happy-hearted   she  continued  here. 
Of  nature  resolute  and  quite  exceeding 
In  all  the  better  arts  of  native  breeding, 
She  well  preserved  the  maxims  of  the  day 
And  in  them  safely  lived  her  life  away. 


GUILFORD    PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  ALDERBROOK. 

Part  VIII :   Norton — Woodruff. 


102  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

WALLACE  NORTON. 

October  4,  1870 — July  4,  1896. 

He  had  youth's  happy,  scarce  intended  grace ; 

Its  frankness,  there  he  carried  in  the  face : 

Responding,   speech  fill,   artless  nor  inert, 

Uncrafty,  naive,  but  mentally  alert. 

While  then  of  life  so  full  and  richer  blooming 

Than  wayside  fragrant  flower,  he  plucked  consuming, 

In  thirst  for  lore,  its   sweeter  story  hid 

Beneath  the   petals,   he   tenderly  undid; 

A  specialist  to  read  our  fields  and  then 

Learned  much  we  knew  and  added  more;   but  when 

The  swift  decline  that  has  so  thinned  our  race, 

Took  him,  too  soon  we  missed  the  fair,  young  face. 

His  life  still  keeps  and  fills  its  mission  here 

To  give  example  and  yet  more  endear 

The  fadeless  qualities  he  wore  about 

And  carried  shining  ere  his  light  went  out. 

The  native,  inborn  student,  then  we  lost; 

The  bright  young  hopeful  Christian,  to  our  cost; 

The  friend  of  truth  and  right,  the  foe  of  wrong, 

He  came  and  more  enriched  this  tented  throng. 

DEACON  ELI  PARMELEE. 

June  7,  1808 — August  8,  1882. 

Fair  mate  for  magi  of  an  elder  day, 

He  went  forth,  brave  and  matchless,  in  his  way; 

In  strength  of  manhood,  noble  and  supreme, 

Whose  sweeter  courtesy  and  charm,  in  dream 

Adorn  unreal  fictions  of  the  mind. 

And  well  this  godly  man  did  love  his  kind, 

In  utterance  of  his  full,  larger  feeling, 

Far  depths  of  pathos  and  of  love  revealing. 

Much  he  encountered  for  the  public  weal. 


DEACON    ELI    PAR  MELEE. 


ALDERBROOK  103 

We  saw  him  put  his  shoulders  to  the  wheel, 

When  chosen  by  the  precept  of  election 

Of  matters  public  here,  he  took  direction. 

From  serving  Church  to  serving  State,  he  passed, 

Promotion — this  quite  common  to  his  caste. 

Heavenward  he  strove  and  lived  his  life  as  knowing, 

We  pass  along  this  way,  but  once,  and  going 

Hence,  shall  be  from  time  and  tide  unknown  released. 

Such  briefly  then  the  deacon  was ;    nor  ceased 

To  work  the  sluggish  symptoms  of  our  thought 

To  highest  labors,  looking  to  be  wrought. 

MRS.  BETSEY  ANN  PARMELEE. 

May  8,  1808 — November  ii,  1891. 

Full  on  the  brow  of  Sachem's  Head  it  stands, 
The  homestead  that  commands  the  seas  and  lands. 
And  there  all  wealths  of  earth  and  air  and  waters 
Have  entered  into  many  sons  and  daughters. 
And  where  the  name  of  Lindley  Benton  goes, 
There  Fortune,  all  her  excellence,  bestows. 
From  home  so  dear,  then,  happily  she  went 
And  life,  beloved,  within  white  village,  spent. 
Her  figure,  dainty,  tidy,  true  and  trim 
And  quaint,  sweet  face  looks  out  the  bonnet's  brim 
And  when  the  Sabbath  bell  is  swinging  slow, 
She  walks  with  Eli  and  to  church  they  go. 
Sweet  home  she  made  attractive,  by  her  thrift; 
And  life  did  speed  till  slow  with  age  did  drift. 
A  daughter,  fair  and  dear,  then  grew  within 
And  she,  in  time,  a  son  and  two  did  win. 
Then  children  rose  and  called  her  mother  grand ; 
Such  happiness   she  had,  at  her  command. 
A  gentle,  quiet,  true  and  peaceful  soul, 
She  found  her  haven  rest  and  final  goal. 


104  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

JONATHAN   PARMELEE. 

September  3,   1798 — June  18,  1880. 

Far  overlooking  wide  the  water's  waste, 

He  dwelt,  this  nobleman  of  purest  taste, 

Who  builded  up  his  house  with  thoughtful  art 

Which,  comely,  spacious  fitting  in  each  part, 

Seemed  copied  from  his  qualities  and  grace 

And  very  aptly,  like  them,  put  in  place. 

Firm  in  that  inner  home,  he  lived  his  life ; 

The  spirit  calm  and  never  known  in  strife. 

Majestic  in  his  form  that  told  his  traits; 

On  whom  fair  Fortune's  better  hazard  waits. 

He  held  into  life's  dimly  growing  night 

And  stood  here,  fair  and  tall,  like  beacon  light 

To  give  judicious  and  most  helpful  warning 

How  selves  and  homes  we  might  be  more  adorning. 

In  divers  ways,  he  made  us  much  rejoice, 

Nor  stood  in  silence,  shedding  light,  but  voice 

Raised  firm  in  speech:    to  soldiers  courage  gave 

To  forward  right  and  hope  forlorn  to  save. 

A  stalwart  man,  he  formed  that  firm  reserve 

That  gives  to   legislation  force  and  nerve. 

FRANKLIN  COLLINS  PHELPS. 

August  31,  1803 — December  29,  1873. 

Scarce  figure,  in  our  commune,  could  there  be 
In  retrospective  days,  more  known  than  he, 
More  frank  and  full  pronounced,  nor  diffident, 
Like  soldier  marched  despite  impediment. 

He  was  a  school  and  party,  democratic  , 

In  himself :   we  liked  this  man,  erratic 

And  loved  him  much  in  parts  select :  the  breeze 


JONATHAN    PARMELEE. 


ALDERBROOK  105 

He  raised  through  summer  days :  when  like  to  freeze 
This  man,  of  choler  full,  could  make  it  hot 
And  interesting  to  a  party,  his  or  not. 

In  days  of  slow,  more  patient  traveling, 
These  tangled  ways,  he  went  unraveling 
Daily  with  the  stage;    that,  driving  to  and  fro, 
In  mood  imperative  and  some  tense,  did  go 
With  all  the  genders,  to  grammarians  known, 
Aboard  and  mailbag,  last  of  all,  upthrown. 

His  laughter  loud  then  fell  upon  our  spelling, 
When  now  he  found  some  school  boy's  error  telling, 
Tales  from  the  superscription  of  love's  letter. 
He  watched  us  sharply  and  soon  taught  us  better. 

Prodigious  was  his  will,  nor  he  unkind; 
But  was  a  marked  example  of  a  mind 
To  bring,  and  bend  and  hold  beneath  his  sway, 
Some  things,  resolved  to  go  the  other  way. 

His  frame  was  full  and  puffed  with  might  restrained; 
His  head  and  dignity  high  hat  contained. 
Once*  senator,  twice  master  of  the  Post, 
The  man,  in  life,  was  in  himself,  a  host. 

GEORGE  MORSE  SEWARD. 

October  18,  1819 — September  26,  1898. 

His  forces  stood  in  slender  formed  array, 

A  man  light  armed  to  enter  life's  affray. 

But  enter  it  he  did  with  strong  resolve 

As  bound  to  thrive  and  make  his  life  revolve. 

So  manfully,  past  three  score  years  and  ten, 

He  moved  before  us   ready  with  skilled  ken 

To  fold  from  winter's  and  from  summer's  shock 

*  State  senator  in  1863. 


106  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

And  build  our  houses,  firm  upon  the  rock. 
Nor  spent  his  days  entire  with  saws  and  axes, 
But  faithfully,  for  some  years,  took  the  taxes. 
Much  in  reserve  he  held — his  words  were  few, 
Nor  would  tell  freely  more  than  others  knew. 
His  pleasure  was  to  make  the  morning  rise 
To  rouse  the  sun  and  greet  it  with  surprise. 
His  idleness  e'en  took  industrious  form, 
Shrewd  like  the  ant  preparing  for  a  storm. 
Time  gently  stole  away  his  vital  strength; 
Life's  lease,  so  oft  renewed,  ran  out  at  length. 
His  tenement  he  could  no  more  repair, 
And  the  worn  spirit  then  ceased  dwelling  there. 

AMOS  SEWARD. 

November   13,   1786 — October   16,    1881. 

He  came  in  guise  prescribed  to  patriarch 

From  out  the  past  where  Time's  grey  shadows  dark 

Enveil,  to  be  our  deigned  divining  eye, 

The  dim  and  distant  past  to  magnify; 

To  pierce  the  darker  but  the  plainer  way 

To  him,  and  bring  us  news  of  elder  day. 

Who  saw  the  forms  of  the  departing  dead, 
Borne  tenderly  out  to  their  narrow  bed; 
As  taken  gently,  in  fond  arms  away, 
By  corps  of  bearers  then  in  kind  relay; 

Committed  near  to  shrine  the  common  sod, 
Close  by  the  homes  and  guarding  house  of  God; 
Still  dwelling  there  as  in  loved  friendly  eye, 
Amidst  life's  tumult,  joy  and  company. 

Found  master  of  the  Post,  primeval  quite, 
Himself ;  a  single  letter  gave  delight ; 
Red  ribbons,  loosely  looped  upon  the  wall, 


ALDERBROOK  107 

Held  that  one  letter,  ready  for  a  call; 
Read  out  aloud  to  waiting  crowd  around, 
Hoping  for  them  that  letter  would  be  found. 

He  saw  near  five  score  years  alertly  end ; 
Saw  how  his  generation  would  descend ; 
In  promise,  present  merit  and  degree, 
Scholastic  honor  and  sweet  quality, 
Such  as  the  most  fastidious  parent,  grand, 
Should,  in  all  reasonableness,  demand. 
Before  us  all  he  dwelt  in  peaceful  calm, 
And  showed  to  youthful  life  old  age's  charm. 

MRS.    SARAH   HUBBARD    SEWARD. 

June  12,  1792 — April  12,   1874. 

Around  her  autumn's  wild  winds  sighing  blow, 
Her  gleaming  hair,  full  puffed,  is  as  the  snow, 
The  ruffled  cap  betokened  reverence  due 
And  gave  a  tint  to  its  own  purest  hue. 
Calm  gentleness  was  there  in  full  repose, 
And  all  the  fruits  of  long  life's  ripened  close 
Adorned  her  days  and  shone  with  fragrant  air 
That  comes  from  sweet  age,  elegant  and  fair. 
So  fair  was  she  in  her  departing  days 
And  kept  the  graces  of  life's  younger  phase. 
A  mother  loved  of  mothers  and  so  most  adorned 
By  those  whose  swift  advancing  ages  warned 
That  she  still,  in  her  own  fond  life,  retreating, 
Was  so,  in  other  lives  more  lives  repeating. 
In  earthly  prudences  and   foresight  skilled, 
Her  days  with  care  and  joy  and  sorrow  filled, 
She  hence  departed,  one  sweet,  sacred  morning, 
Without  adieu  and  without  word  of  warning. 
She  was  a  pattern,  model  in  her  way, 
And  fond  regret  laments  her  to  this  day. 


108  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

JUDGE   RALPH   DUNNING    SMYTH. 

October  28,  1804 — September  ii,  1874. 

He  too,  alas !  is  gone  and  rests  from  life, 
Too  large  to  measure  by  our  narrow  strife, 
In  which  he  yet  was  long  and  large  a  part 
And  bore  our  common  pleasure  near  at  heart. 

And  took  in  village  policy  his  share 

Of  obligation,  high  and  public  care. 

In  legal  chair,  in  legislative  hall 

He  served  the  needs  of  wider  reach  and  call. 

A  man  for  prudent  counsel  formed  and  wise, 
Of  noble  stature  and  commanding  guise; 
Would  take  him  for  a  king  without  his  crown, 
Or  some  old  Roman  senator,  come  down. 

A  learned  man  of   stored,  sagacious  mind, 
Who  made  his  home  here,  cultured  and  refined 
And  rescued  much  historic  knowledge  rare 
Of  which  he  left  us  equal  part  and  share. 

We  saw  him  passing  o'er  these  leafy  ways 
Thinking,  with  head  inclined,  of  other  days ; 
Seeking  perchance  what  never  would  he  find, 
Till  Nature,  once  so  cruel,  then  so  kind, 

Returned  to  him  in  children's  eager  prattle 
What  she  took  ruthless,  early  in  life's  battle; 
Sons,  trained  to  fill  in  life  their  plighted  place, 
Taken  from  him  in  early  manhood's  grace. 

As  if  repentance  seized  relenting  Fate, 
Who  yielding  sent  him  children,  not  too  late, 
And  forms  as  fair,  clad  too  in  scholars'  graces, 
Seemed  to  restore  the  lost  loved,  fostered  faces. 


JUDGE   RALPH    D.    SMYTH. 


ALDERBROOK  IO9 

MRS.  RACHEL  STONE  SMYTH. 

December  5,   1817 — August  2,   1882. 

Affection  fond  shone  calmly  in  her  face, 
Who  filled  in  a  rare  way  a  mother's  place ; 
So  richly  dowered,  the  voice  so  soft  to  greet, 
And  all  things  womanly  in  her  did  meet. 
Curls  light  adorned  and  curtained  in  the  face 
That  could  but  smile  and  beaming  show  its  grace. 

And  cadences  of  tones  fall  on  the  air 
As  once,  so  real  and  gentle,  she  did  there 
At  home  invite  us   in,  with   ease  unfeigning, 
And  for  the  moments  few,  sat  entertaining. 
So  happened  the  rare  chosen,  happy  hour 
When  we  observed  her  very  gracious  power. 

What  Nature  gave  prolific,  Art  nurtured  more 
And  careful  culture  added  to  her  store. 
She  formed  to  scholar's  sway,  the  scholar's  home, 
From  youth  trained  up  to  reverence  the  tome; 

From  clustered  graces,  sought  across  the  way, 
Whose  glories  fill  the  annals  of   the  day, 
As  patterns  of  perfection,  though  all  real, 
Yet  so  nearly  approaching  the  ideal. 

Then  Fate  brought  bitterly  the  painful  part 
And  plucked  the  blessed,  guiding  gentle  heart, 
Retook  full  nearly  all  it  richly  gave, 
And  left  but  certain  for  herself  the  grave : 

Then  could  be  seen,  how  true  and  sweet  and  strong, 
Those   rare,   abiding  graces   did  prolong, 
And  still  did  send  their  faithful,  chastened  cheer 
To  bless  the  younger  generation  here. 


110  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

WALTER  HEBERT  SMYTH. 

May  ii,  1843 — November  27,  1863 

Walter!   with  rare  young  scholar's  laureled  brow, 
O !  wake  and  wear  this  later  laurel  now. 
We  see  him  early  as  at  school  he  stands 
And  waits,  unruffled,  Master  Mack's  commands. 

He  clears  the  fallen  hair,  the  head  is  bent, 
Then  looks  up,  answering  with  calm  relent; 
For  modesty  his  fair  young  head  inclined, 
So  reticent  of  much  he  had  in  mind. 

This  boy,  a  knight  with  eyes  and  jacket  blue, 
Played  tournament,  the  fields  and  hedges  through. 
Life,   winged  and   flitting  bright,   in  rambles  led 
Him  learning  onward;    as  time  swiftly  sped, 
Words  and  things  hidden,  traced  he  to  the  root. 
New  secrets  still  he  sought,  on  speeding  foot ; 
Who  could  unveil  the  mysteries  of  number 
And  see  what  histories  in  Nature  slumber. 
Who  loved  to  pluck  all  knowledge  by  the  stem, 
Wrho  loved  the  youth  divine  of  Bethlehem. 

He  stood  in  Chapel  choir  with  soul  for  song, 
While  chants  and  anthems  rose  from  student  throng; 
And  when,  with  organ  peal,  the  choir  rejoiced, 
His  tone  the  chorus  swelled  and  sweeter  voiced. 

In  College  archway  there,  the  classmen  waited 
To  see  Walter  pass  along;    when  'twas  stated 
That  a  fair  youth,  blue-eyed,  slight  and  not  tall, 
Had  plucked  the  classic  Bristed  from  them  all. 
Alas !    the  attentive  soulful  power,  so  rare, 
Soon  burned. away  the  gifted  spirit  there. 


RICHARD  E.    SMYTH. 


ALDERBR00K  III 

RICHARD  EDWARD  SMYTH. 

September  2,  1846 — December  18,  1868. 

Richard  was  like  Saxon  youth,  fair  and  clever, 
As  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  tall  form  make  one  ever. 
Princely,  we  could  not  call  him  to  his  face 
But  now  he  is  gone,  we  may  have  the  grace. 
Ah !    if  perchance  ye  cannot  heartfree  meet, 
Look  not  into  such  eyes,  ye  maidens  sweet. 
His  thought  versatile,  and  varied  his  notions, 
He,  somewhat  given  to  planetary  motions, 
His  mind  now  working  and  flashing  and  dreaming, 
In  orbit,  changeful  and  eccentric  seeming. 
He  wrote  and  printed  much  in  College  days 
And  promised,  in  fair  Fancy's  fertile  ways, 
To  fill  some  page  of  life  with  siren  song 
If  Fortune  would  his  precious  days  prolong. 
Then  he,  like  one  of  England's  scholars  great, 
Died  learning  and  serenely  met  his  fate. 
Absorbed  in  Sanscrit  and  linguistic  lore, 
He  whiled  sweet  life  away  and  was  no  more. 
When  day,  at  manhood's  early  dawn  began, 
Then  ended  his  short  happy  shining  span. 

DEACON  COMFORT  STARR. 

February  7,  1780 — December  i,  1862. 

He  had  the  sense  of  humor  and  the  young 
He  loved  to  puzzle,  quiz  and  be  among; 
On  rainy  days  when  t'other  deacon  came* 
They  mystified  and  puzzled  much  the  same. 

The  rain  would  beat  the  roof,  while  they  within 
Of  Noah  talked  and  thought  on  ancient  sin; 
But  kept  the  heads  of  modern  doctrines  dry 
Till  daylight  waned  before  the  clouded  sky. 

*  Abraham  Dudley. 


H2  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Upon  the  sacred  aisle,  we  saw  him  oft; 

His  figure,  statuesque,  borne  straight  aloft. 

Like  Druid,  reverend  and  hoar,  he  stood, 

Composed  in  dignity  and  sere  manhood; 

The  whitened  hair  fringed  round  and  framed  in  peace 

The  features  that  would  scarce  admit  increase, 

In  true  and  noble  quality:  before 
Them  all,  the  emblems  to  and  fro,  he  bore, 
And  then,  the  Druid  did  appear  sublime, 
As  in  fair  Mona's  elder,  foreign  clime. 

For  he  in  our  commune  had  gained  the  hight 
Faith  rare  attains :   and  few  with  faith  still  might 
Climbing  pass  beyond,   save  with  broader  strife, 
To  serve  the  State  and  give  it  law  and  life. 

A  star  in  the  ascendant  so  he  shone, 
And  many,  guided  by  his  light  alone, 
So  fixedly  serene  and  twinkling  sure, 
Did  firmly  on  their  course  in  turn  endure 
And  shed  for  others  his  reflected  light 
Long  after  it  had  ceased,  eclipsed  by  night. 

MRS.  LYDIA  LAY  STARR. 

September  6,  1819 — October  19,  1898. 

She  entered  into  life,  awake  with  zest, 
Resolved  to  search  it  out  with  every  quest, 
And  hope  for  fair  return  but  not  despair 
When  grief  with  sudden  shadow  spanned  the  air. 
And  so  her  days,  complete  and  full  and  ending 
She  saw,  in  rare  achievement,  still  more  blending 
With  their  own  evening  twilight  rays,  renewed, 
Multiplied  manifold :    and  thus  she  viewed 
Herself,  starting  out  in  life,  yet  in  others, 
Bounding  the  world  around  to  make  new  brothers. 


MRS.    SARAH    R.    TODD. 


ALDERBROOK  113 

Proud  would  Priscilla  and  John  Alden  be, 
If,  down  these  generations,  they  could  see 
Themselves,  in  flesh  and  blood,  renewed  alive ; 
Ordained  as  Fortune's   favorites  to  thrive; 
Their   full  romantic  days  revived  again 
In  new  romance  afar,  unthought  of  then. 
Long  active,  in  our  village  circuit  here, 
She  lived  the  while  she  lived  and  left  us  to  revere 
Her  character,  accomplishments  and  fame, 
With  multiple  reminders  of  her  name. 

MRS.   SARAH  REDFIELD  TODD. 

November  ii,  1795 — March  2,  1892. 

She  dwelt  here  hid  in  no  far  obscure  corner, 
Arch  wit  and  sense  and  taste  did  so  adorn  her; 
Enthroned  in  silken  gown,  white  cap  and  lace, 
So  dainty  sweet  in  feature,  form  and  face; 
A  century  plant  that  blooming  to  us   fair, 
Long  graced  the  earth  and  brighter  made  the  air; 
Who  flowering  on  this  western  windward  strand, 
Was  like  the  image  of  a  rarer  Talleyrand. 
Who  gloried  in  the  past  and  did  not  hide 
That,  in  her  generation,  she  took  pride. 
Some  secrets  of  the  past,  who  did  reveal, 
The  greater  part  did  faithfully  conceal; 
A  village  belle  for  five  score  "years  about, 
Rests  she,  who  drew  our  warm  affection  out. 
We  would  yet  have,  if  wishes  might  command, 
One  touch  and  greeting  from  her  vanished  hand, 
One  arch  look  more,  yet  one  spare  vocal  token, 
Be  gently  given  us  and  sweetly  spoken; 
But  she  has  gone ;    and  carried  off  her  treasures 
And  with  them  many  of  our  plighted  pleasures ! 


H4  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.   ANNIE   GRISWOLD  VITTUM. 

October  4,  1866 — August  i,  1903. 

Her  slumber  shall  give  meaning  to  this  mound, 

Who  made  these  vales  with  noblest  song  resound, 

Inspired  our  lives,  aroused  our  spirit's  aim, 

And  did  with  joyous  notes  heart's  hope  proclaim. 

Forth  launched  her  happy  life  with  precious  freight 

In  light  and  buoyant  bark  with  gentle  state, 

And  eyes   that  kept  lookout   from  their   own  blue 

Shed  purity  and  light  and  sweetness  too. 

Now  east,  now  west,  her  melodies  resound, 

And  in  the  West  she  finds  life's  busy  bound. 

There  speeds  her  swift  career  to  higher  use 

With  love  nor  gave  to  discipline  a  truce, 

But  nobly  strove  to  follow  Wisdom's  ways 

And  trained  her  mind  and  powers  for  useful  days. 

So  moved  her  course,  set  true  to  highest  aim, 

Till  storm  and  stress  bore  down  her  fragile  frame. 

Alas !   our  hearts  are  stirred  to  sorrow's  deeps, 

That  she  who  moved  us  so  forever  sleeps 

And  silent  lies,  the  gentle  spirit  flown, 

Most  soulful  songster  that  our  vales  have  known! 

ALFRED  NELSON  WILLCOX. 

May  14,   1823 — June   18,   1901. 

A  slender  body  shrined  his  gentle  soul, 
Who  filled,  with  us  in  life,  a  useful  role; 
Innately  fine,  though  formed  of  common  clay, 
He  touched  some  things  superior,  in  his  way. 
His  hand,  all  deft  and  wary  cunning  knew, 
Dull  matter  into  artful  forms  he  threw. 
His  hazel  eyes  emitted  merry  twinkles ; 
He  smiled,  as  saint  might  wish  to,  and  no  wrinkles 
Of  a  nature  warped  and  crooked,  seeming, 


MRS.    ANNIE  G.   VITTUM. 


ALDERBROOK  1 1  5 

Came  from  him,  coldly  or  wildly  gleaming : 
And  yet  this  gentle  man  once  went  to  war 
And  fought  our  battles  to  bring  back  our  law; 
The  nation's  peace  his  gentle  might  restored 
And  saved  the  downfall  we  could  ill  afford. 
Then,  formed  in  peaceful  ranks  in  scented  spring, 
When  soldiers,   over   soldiers,  garlands  fling, 
The  veteran  walked  with  flowers  refreshed  with  tears, 
If  not  suppressed  within  for  those  sad  years. 
His  excellence  has  now  bereaved  our  street, 
Yet  still  in  fancy  here  we  pass  and  greet. 

ELEAZER  WOODRUFF. 

July  3,  1819 — April  3,  1906. 

What  fortune  his  of  temper,  spirit,  mind ! 

The  temper,  summer  day,  the  spirit  kind. 

What  greeting  gladness  in  the  eye  and  hand ! 

Whose  forces  yet  stood  lightly  to  command. 

His  largeness  lay,  unseen,  at  heart  and  there 

He  kept  what  wondrousness  of  love  to  spare ! 

And  stored  in  head  a  century  of  things  untold 

Of  Noah  Webster  and  such  mannered  men  of  old. 

His  knowledge  was  exact  and  nice  in  ways 

Of  first  importance  to  our  rural  da}^. 

He  knew  to  man  the  mill  and  grind  the  grain 

While  overshot  the  wheel  rolled  up  refrain. 

He  carried  in  his  finger  ends  all  lore 

Of  garden's  bloom  and  dappled  fruit's  stemmed  store. 

Unlike  the  trees  of  Eden's  garden  hid, 

His  stood  on  highway,  generous  nor  forbid. 

Lament  is  lost  in  joy  for  his  wide  wealth — 

The  love  of  friends  secure,  long  life  and  health. 

And  as  around  the  grave  we  silent  stand, 

There  fall  brave  bright  farewells  with   "gift  of  sand." 

6* 


Il6  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.  HARRIET  ATWOOD  WOODRUFF. 

June    14,    1823 — December    14,    1890. 

She  bore  her  graceful  equipoise  erect, 

Alert  and  slender;   too  natural  to  affect 

Aught  but  herself  to  be ;    and  blue,  her  eyes 

Her  fortune  frankly  told  and  read  like  spies 

The  hidden  vista  of  the  busy  life, 

To  which  she  lent  a  hand,  as  faithful  wife ; 

Then,  onward  fared  the  years  and  round  her  knees 

Came  children  creeping  and  by  sure  degrees 

Above  her  grew  and  justified  her  pride 

And  did  their  loving  sacrifice  provide. 

So,  by  her  side,  stood  Fortune  to  bestow 

The  favors  courted  as  years  older  grow, 

Till  tides  of  sympathy  and  kindly  love 

Should  link  her  closer  still  with  those  above. 

Nor  rests  she  here,  all  comfortless  alone; 

But  he,  who  first  above  her  grew,  now  prone 

And  fallen  by  the  way,  low  with  her  lies, 

So  early  did  he  make  life's  sacrifice. 

If  gentle  spirit  looks  back  o'er  the  way, 

May  yet  seem  sweet,  the  cares  of  living  day ! 


WESTSIDE 

INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY: 

PART  I. 


Il8  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX:    Part  I. 

The  hallowed  hill :    The  leaf-veiled  village  near : 

Reaped  ripened  sheaves  :    Pleasure's  pinions  : 

Peers  of  the  past :    Faiths  forgot  revive : 

Rare  joys  renew :    The  sacred  way:    A  passing  pause 

Scenes  of  tenderness:    Rue  regrets:    Once  other  life: 

Light  birch  barks  :    Shaumpishu's  realm  : 

Voices  of  spirits:    Shadow-home  of  shades: 

Tribute  troth:    Quiet,  quested  spot:    Lifeless  nation: 

In  remnant  majesty:    Where  sleeps  Valeria: 

Down  Calixtus'  paths:    Their  silent  city: 

The  barefoot  pilgrimage :    Land  of  Nirvana : 

The  Taj  :    Viaticums  long  ancient :    Campo  Santo : 

Aurelia's  son :    Obsequies  of  Caesar  raged : 

The  drama  of  lament :    The  Jews  their  tribute  tell. 


RIVERSIDE  119 

INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  I. 

Riverside  : 


Where  earth  has  rounded  ribs  of  rock  on  land, 
That  ancient  seas  swept,  surging  to  the  strand, 
There  lies  a  spacious,  high  and  moulded  mound, 
Whose  very  outline  made  it  sacred  ground. 
This  tenant  tomb  that  love  makes  luring  loam, 
Forms   our   alternate,   common  haven-home. 
It  crowning  crests  the  western  hallowed  hill 
With  breasts  of  earth,  impressive,  calm  and  still 
Then  looks  upon  the  leaf-veiled  village  near 
And  there  its  gleaming,  greystone  spires  appear, 
In  light,  now  noontide  white,  then  fired  with  red, 
As  when  at  eve,  its  course  the  sun  has  sped ; 
When  blushing  brilliant  from  hid  depths  below, 
It  thrills  the  sky  with  full  flushed  afterglow 
And  flings  a  parting  sheen  of  golden  hue, 
Lustrous  to  gloss  the  waning,  welkin  blue. 

Here  too  are  garnered  life's  reaped  ripened  sheaves, 

That  falling  fair  or  like  sere  faded  leaves, 

Lie  resting,  tranquil  to  the  village  eye, 

Its  silent  and  most  precious  company. 

The  meadows  knolled,  ascending  in  the  vale, 

With  joyful,  singing  brooks  and  tangled  trail, 

Winding  through  other  fields  to  wolds  away, 

Where  sylvan  spots  invite  the  festive  day, 

With  homes  adorned,  more  humanized  and  glad, 

Should  not  suggest  aught  sorrowful  or  sad. 

Woods  hold  their  gaudy,  gleaming  trees  aground 


120  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

And  highlands  hedge  the  north  horizon  round. 

And  there,  ascending  bluff  before  the  sky, 

Gray  forests  throw  effulgent  lustre  high ; 

A  sculptured  land  that  caves  and  boulders  bound, 

With  narrow  catchment-basins,  not  profound, 

Where,  at  the  mossed  and  dripping,  stony  brink, 

The  muskrat  and  the  wildwood  flower  may  drink. 

The  river  winds  upon  its  thwarted  way 

Seaward  and  eddies  chase,  where  waters  play; 

Fair  Nature's  accident,  it  comes  and  goes, 

As  man  fares  voyaging,  nor  whither  knows, 

Now  pent,  restrained,  then  charging  from  its  course, 

It  floods  the  fields  with  springtide   freshet  force, 

Beats  down  the  bolted  bridge,  embays  the  land,   • 

At  once  becomes  a  spanding  sea  and  strand ; 

Then,  merged  with  tides,  flows  on  and  there  remains 

Refreshed,  the  spreading  delta  of  the  plains. 

The  swimmer,  his  last  hazard,  takes  below, 

Where  fathom  deep  the  waveless  waters  go ; 

On  whose  same  buoyant  and  full-mooning  tide, 

Youth  sharing  cheer  on  pleasure's  pinions  ride. 

Travelers  over  bridge  and  brook  make  haste, 

Lest  some  odd  precious  moment  idle  waste ; 

If  they  deign,  scarcely  here  to  look  around, 

Yet  young  and  old  axe  haply  hither  bound. 

Now  living  eyes  on  peaceful  prospects  rest 

And  dwellings  fair  throw  bloom  to  water's  crest ; 

Embowered  bright  in  budding  vernal  vine, 

Rambler,  wistaria,  the  circling  columbine ; 

Where  garlands  grow  for  those  who  reared  these  shades, 

Gave  shelter  and  defence,  grim  grief  invades, 

Under  whose  mellowing,  more  silent  spells, 

Life  still  its  sweetest  recollections  tells. 


RIVERSIDE  121 

Toils  homely  prompt  renew  when  earth  awakes ; 
Each  body,  quick  with  life,  of  task  partakes. 
Teacher  and  taught  go  timeful  by  to  town 
And  some  are  clinging  to  the  other's  gown. 
The  farmer  fetches  to  and  from  his  ground. 
The  woodsman  hides  him  in  the  forest  bound. 
All    stubborn   industry  comes   wheeling  by, 
Through  fall's  and  winter's  blasts  into  July. 
The  slow  surveying  ox  with  full  day's  race, 
Measures   afield   his   furrow  long,   apace. 
The  boy  halloos  where  truant  creatures   stray 
And  sees  rare  fox  cross  stiled  and  gated  way, 
Geese  quack  amazed  and  goggle  at  the  view 
And  awkward  rise  to  put  a  storm  in  brew. 
The  sky-bred  hawk  swings  high  above,  day  dies 
When  night  falls  chilling,  downward  from  the  skies; 
Then  sharded  beetles  winged  at  dusk  begin, 
Prowling  batlike,  to  beat  the  window  in. 
The  lantern  gleams  like  shooting  star  to  warn 
The  dark  away  and  light  the  husking  corn. 

All  watch  with  zeal  life's  whirling,  wayward  race; 
The  drover  with  his  whip  and  gown  to  chase 
The  herd  of  branded  beeves  that  bar  the  way. 
Then  gypsies  peer  and  pass  and  short  their  stay 
To  tell  a  fortune  or  surprise  the  flock. 
The  bandits  gallop  on  their  sorry  stock 
And  camp  midst  bush  and  brake,  so  free  the  air, 
Though  none  so  lost,  none  further  from  despair. 
Then  comes  the  gentleman,  the  old-time  'squire, 
In  long-caped  cloak  and  buckram  stock,  now  rare, 
To  choke  the  neck,  but  give  the  air,  so  proud, 
That  would  be  seen  and  singled  from  a  crowd. 
The  next  of  tribe  of  weary  foot  and  breast, 


122  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Milled  music  winds  from  organ,  set  at  rest 
Upon  the  ground ;    the  last  dull  scissors  grinds. 
Thus  daily,  onward  the  procession  winds 
Along  its  world-wide  way  in  cycles,  bound 
By  time  and  tide  and  fortune,  to  be  found. 
Horned  kine  may  playfully  their  neighbors  push 
And  sparrows  sparring  keep  alive  the  bush ; 
Then  storms  and  sky-stones  frosty,  white  appear 
And  Christmas  coming  empties  out  the  year ; 
While  happy  runs  each  faithful  life  away, 
In  careful  deeds  and  duties  of  the  day, 
With  slow  but  certain  fruits  of  hearty  health 
To  add  the  rolling  increment  to  wealth; 
Catch  pleasure  as  it  flies,  prolong  the  breath, 
With  remedies   for  everything  but  death.* 
So  man  goes  girded  to  his  toilsome  tasks 
And  earns  his  ease  and  little  favor  asks, 
But  labors  manfully  for  night's  repose, 
Labor  the  hardy  happiness  he  knows, 
Bearing  for  others  brave,  this  daily  doom, 
Till  parting  brings  to  them  a  silent  gloom. 

Swift  feet,  glad  eyes  and  forms  of  golden  age, 
Emeritus,  rare  and  reverend  on  the  stage ; 
Fond  hearts,  to  whom  sweet,  gentle  joys  arrived, 
Whom  f roward  Fate,  of  beckoning  years,  deprived ; 
The  friends  of  youth,  mid  life  and  silvered  age, 
Who  made  humane  the  scenes  that  here  engage 
And  in  their  ways  on  earth  did  life  adorn, 
Now,  down  the  generations,  they  have  gone. 
They  move  life-shadows  to  our  eager  eyes, 
Peers  of  the  past,  to  our  so  pleased  surprise, 
Each  in  his  own  diurnal  sphere,  as  wont, 

*  Spanish  proverb. 


RIVERSIDE  123 

Now  seems  the  worse  for  wear  and  Fate's  affront. 
Of  those,  whom  once  this  generation  knew, 
Remaining  still  to  cheer  the  day  are  few. 
These  muster  out  as  kindreds  bound  disband 
There  desolate,  the  clustered  houses  stand, 
And  there,  despair  and  dread  have  laid  them  down 
And  would  in  tender  tears  their  sorrows  drown 
Till  brighter  visions  between  night  and  morn 
Bring  rest,  relief  and  courage  to  the  worn. 

And  so  with  sad  repine,  yet  grateful  thanks, 
The  living  close  the  frequent  opened  ranks; 
Fond  longings  lost  and  faiths  forgot  revive 
And   still   sweet   sanguine   expectations   thrive. 
Joys  rare  renew  their  bright,  alternate  hours, 
Toil  sweetly  smarts,  song  thrills,  life  loving  flowers ; 
Along  its  wardened  ways,  hope  hurries  on, 
Care  grapples  burdens  near  and  never  gone. 
When    twilight    eve    the    closing    day    surrounds 
And  village  vale  subdues  its  joyous  sounds 
In  stilled  repose,  "the  solemn  fires  of  night," 
Arched   radiant,   mysterious  above,   relight 
The  rayless  earth,  due  reverence  arouse, 
Reanimate  thought  and  inspire  new  vows. 

II. 

The  nearness  of  this  cherished  western  knoll 
Makes  it  a  morning  or  an  evening  stroll. 
There  oft  the  living  walk  the  sacred  way 
And  when  no  more,  they  have  not  far  to  stray. 
We  go  as  young  or  old  and  ageing  yonder, 
To  plight  our  sympathy  and  silent  ponder; 
These  unlinked  lives,  if  we  do  not  forget, 


124  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

When  well  remembered,  are  responsive  yet. 

The  names  we  read,  the  years  we  count,  enwrit 

As  native  stone  and  marble  strange  permit; 

Then  sure  and  ceaseless  there,  fast  over  all, 

Cold  unconcern  and  void  oblivion  fall. 

The  tempests  thrilling,  when  they  passing  storm, 

Still  more  subdue  man's  fickle  fashion's  form 

Than  man  himself  who  knows  their  bolder  way, 

Nor  equals  them  in  his  swift,  briefer  day. 

The  storm  beats  down  the  humble  heapy  mound 

That  marked  life's  passion,  still  below  the  ground ; 

Where  rude  and  tranquil  tumulus  upheaved 

Would  show  how  earth  takes  care  of  those  bereaved. 

The  stone,  with  moss  o'ergrown  and  name  obscured, 

That  scarce,  to  full  ripe  century,  has  endured, 

Still  more  appeals  in  its  dim  drear  decay 

And  falls  before  Time's  tireless  spoiling  sway. 

But  we  those  darling  ancient  stones  deride 

That  bearing  Father  Time  displease  our  pride; 

Once,  solemn,  taciturn  and  writ  severe, 

Now  antiquated  start  the  smile,  not  tear. 

Fashion,  changing  from  time  to  time,  invades 

The   ruling  rites  and  manners  of   these  shades ; 

No  tolling  out  of  sex,  of  age  the  score, 

The  carriers  bear  pall  and  bier  no  more; 

The  bell   is  heard  but   rare  or  never  pealing, 

Lo !    his  lingering  train  and  Death  revealing. 

What  scenes  of  tenderness,  all  uncontrived, 
Tell  of  love  lost  and  memories  revived; 
Here  deep  distress,  here  filial  souls'  despair 
Have  cast  their  rue  regrets  upon  the  air. 
Farewell  to  joys!  we  cry,  but  leave  untold 
All  that  is  buried  'neath  the  careless  mould ; 


RIVERSIDE  125 

Our  very  life  that  lived  ere  we  drew  breath 

And  kept  the  heritage  of  life  from  death. 

Now  calmed  is  vain  regret,  now  stilled  the  sigh. 

We  range  the  random  graves,  so  close  that  lie 

Athwart  the  path,  as  in  and  out  we  ply 

The  silent  search  and  there  abandoned  spy, 

Far  fathomed  down  their  chambered  inns,  the  friends 

We  give  a  passing  pause,  our  last  amends. 

The  tones  of  toil,  low  fused  in  busy  hum, 

Will  not  come  here  with  full  industrious  thrum; 

But  all  unheard,  as  borne  upon  the  breeze, 

They  make  no  sound  but  stir  among  the  trees. 

Here,  mortal   sense  percipient  must  sleep ; 

Taste,  touch,  hearing,  vision  are  buried  deep. 

The  world  of  life  and  light  has  passed  away, 

We  see,  as  present  now,  that  future  day, 

When  rolled  together,  like  a  finished  scroll, 

The  earth  and  sea,  nor  thought,  nor  sense,  control. 

Then  bright  again  returns  the  crimson  sky, 

Belated  swallows,  circling  homeward,  fly, 

All  forth  the  scarlet  starlights  dimly  creep 

And  dews  upon  the  mourning  marble  weep. 

Once  other  life,  its  joys  and  sorrows,  knew, 

When  these  rude  fields  to  other  harvests  grew; 

More  native  to  our  shades,  men  once  abode, 

Their  light  birch  barks,  upon  these  waters,  rode. 

More  savage  than  the  savages,  our  race 

Subdued  these  woodland  wilds  and  took  their  place. 

And  now  few  native  tokens  touch  the  heart, 

Show  where  and  how  the  Indian  took  part 

In  strife  and  lit  his  fire  to  warm  his  life; 

All  gone,  the  wigwam,  wampum  and  the  knife  ! 

On  Hungry  hill,  along  the  streams  and  plains, 


126  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

* 

Their  war-clubs,  arrow-heads  and  flint  remains 
Are  found,  in  furrowed  crevices  concealed, 
Such  scanty  tokens  has  their  life  revealed; 
Indian  summer,  in  sere  November  leaves, 
Indian  corn,  amid  ripe  autumnal  sheaves, 
Indian  pipes,  dank  with  mottled,  mouldy  hues 
And  smoke  and  ashes,  furnish  sadder  clues. 
Their  pictured  writing  now  adorns  the  page 
Of  our  own  later,  living,  storied  age 
And  there,  along  the  rock-bound  Sachem's  shore, 
Shaumpishu's  realm  receives  the  waves  once  more. 
Where  shapeless  mounds,  few  rough  and  ragged  lie, 
Now  too  obscure,  quite  clear  to  meet  the  eye, 
Dusk  Indian  forms  in  sitting  posture  rest, 
Restored  to  earth  as  to  the  mother's  breast. 
Echoes,  the  voices  of  their  spirits,  blend 
In  whispers  hushed  where  dells  and  dales  extend ; 
Then,  down  the  Milky  Way  their  spirits  ride, 
Where  fancied  realms  their  daring  dreams  provide 
To  'Land  of  Souls,'  the  shadow-home  of  shades, 
Where  mortal  spirit  to  new  life  invades. 

Nor  do  these  walks,  the  humble  head,  exalt; 

Nor  here  "the  long  drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault" 

And  dim  adorned,  all-gloried  cloistered  pale, 

To  keep  these  fond  regrets  alive,  avail. 

No  telling  tomb,  uprearing  to  the  sky, 

With  pride  and  grieved  assumption,  pointing  high ; 

No  structure*  grand  as  Artemisia  gave, 

Her  tribute  troth  to  loved  Mausolus'  grave; 

No  rock-hewn,  sunken,  stout  sarcophagus,t 

*  Mausolus,  deceased  351  B.C.  The  mausoleum  remained  almost  intact 
near  1800  years,  untd  1402.  Scopas  and  Praxiteles  are  believed  to  have 
wrought  its  sculptures.     Pythius,  the  Greek  architect. 

t  Of  stone  from  Troas  that  consumed  the  flesh. 


RIVERSIDE  127 

Preserving  naught,  consuming  all,  saves  us. 
No  chamber  round,  as  on  the  Appian  way, 
Where  travelers  grope  for  Scipio's  dust  astray; 
No  pyramid,  as  holds  hoar  Egypt's  blood, 
Guards  our  last  sleeping  by  the  river's  flood ; 
Where,  low  in  graven,  quiet  quested  spot, 
We  rest  in  turn,  all  first  or  last  forgot, 
When,  humbled  to  the  dust  and  left  alone, 
We  cleave  to  Nature's  heart  and  inner  zone. 

III. 

Yet  decorous  this :    that  has  other  grace, 

Where  lifeless  nation  stares  us  in  the  face ; 

Naught,  so  touching,  the  traveler  passes  by, 

As  where  proud  Rome's  bold,  battered  ruins  lie, 

Or  stand,  in  remnant  majesty,  a  wreck 

For  starless  storms  to  bury  and  bedeck. 

Volcanoes  once  upon  Hesperia  pealed, 

Then  waves  of  fire  and  flood  contend  and  yield 

Rock-strata,  travertine  and  tufa  red 

That  gave  the  Tiber  afterward  its  bed ; 

So  vouch  these  Alban  hills  and  Palatine, 

Lakes,  streams  and  Sabine  mount  and  Esquiline ; 

And  these  made  Rome,  where  spreads  the  grey  Campagna 

That  listened  proudly  to  the  world's  hosanna. 

To-day,  Rome  stands  on  Rome,  like  nations  round, 

Who  there,  all  civic  life  and  law  have  found. 

And,  deep  the  myriad  years  have  paved  the  way, 

That  leads  along  the  Via  Sacra  in  decay. 

The  Claudian  aqueduct  its  arches  save 

To  make  "procession  from  a  nation's  grave" 

And  where  the  Goths  and  Vandals  here  inburst, 

Northward,  Nero,*  the  Grand  Flaminian  cursed. 

*  Nero  buried  on  site  of  church  in  Piazza  del  Popolo. 


128  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Far  southward,  where  the  tallied  milestone  led, 

Reposed  their  silent  city  of  the  dead ; 

And  shelved  in  cells  of  chambered  catacomb, 

Where  'sleeps  Valeria  in  peace,'  the  loam 

Of  burials  old  greets  the  traveler's  gaze, 

Groping  low  and  weird  fills  with  awed  amaze. 

The  dark-red  lustrous  tufa  makes  the  bed 

Of  many  a  martyred  Roman  happy  head. 

The  glinting  track  of  ancient  pick  shines  clear, 

Where  down  Calixtus'  paths  the  mournful  bier, 

Descending  stealthy  through  the  night's  grim  gloom, 

To  Christian  burial,  sought  the  hidden  tomb. 

Above  have  camped  the  armies  of  the  Goth  ;* 

The  barefoot  pilgrimage  of   Christian  troth  ;f 

And  where  the  random,  faring  footstep  falls, 

Flush  frescoes  and  graffiti  grave  the  walls. 

When,  here  and  there,  the  dead  have  had  short  shift, 

Then  soon  their  restless  bones  are  set  adrift ; 

Where  life,  in  multitudes  to  overwhelm, 

Has  forced  them  forth  from  their  own  quiet  realm, 

Abandoned  and  promiscuous  mingled   frames 

Are  harvests  there  of  former  lives  and  fames.:}: 

The  ossuary,  morgue,  the  sepulchre  and  pile, 

The  rock-built  tombs  and  mummies  of  the  Nile; 

The  forms,  preserved  in  Alpine  regions,  high, 

Both  dead  and  live,  so  seeming  to  the  eye ; 

All,  the  same  tale  of  weal  and  woe,  relate, 

Are  indices  of  certain  human  fate 

To  those  who  bravely  dare  to  enter  life 

And  well  or  ill,  amuse  them  with  its  strife. 

*  A.D.  537.         t  A.D.  1104. 

%  These  bald  bone-heaps  in  churchyards  are   seen  in  Southern  Europe, 
the  ground  being  held  on  short  tenures. 


RIVERSIDE  129 

In  India  far,  where  grandeur  proud  parades, 
Where  fountains  foam  and  cooling  Cyprus  shades ; 
Land  of  the  Vedas  and  Nirvana's  rest, 
Crossing  the  Ganges  to  Himalayas  crest; 
The  land  of  Brahman,  sage  and  subtle  minds, 
Of  rock-built  Tartar  tombs  the  Indus  binds. 
Streaming,  its  many  branching  channels,  through, 
Shaded  by  spreading  banyan  and  the  yew ; 
Where  mournful  yews  their  sable  sadness  blend 
And  gardens,  bloomed  luxuriant,  attend, 
With  precious  perfumes  myriad,  combined 
With  light  and  leafy  shadows  intertwined, 
The  Taj  Mehal  its  gleaming  beauty  reared 
To  memory  beloved  of  those  endeared. 
Midst  graceful  elegance  of  sculptured  arts 
That  mark  the  presence  of  their  havened  hearts ; 
'Neath  domes  and  minarets  of  marble  high, 
'Neath  lofty  arches,  low  the  lifeless  lie. 
And  echoes,  aerial  oft  sweet  intrude. 
When  sounds  with  silences  alternate  brood, 
And  where  the  Jumna's  waters  shining  surge, 
They  murmur  peacefully  a  passing  dirge. 

Fancies  forlorn,  these  rites  recall  and  rumors 
Of  savage,  sad  and  even  playful  humors ; 
Vain  viaticums,  long  ancient  among  men, 
As  creature  comforts,  trinkets  trifles  then. 
A  wandering  and  detaining  story  this, 
Though  Campo  Santo  should  not  come  amiss ; 
Where  honors  high  the  gloried  great  inclose 
And  those  adorn  who  most  revered  repose. 
Westminster,  Pere  La-Chaise,  Genoa  and  Pisa 
And  Rome — but  where  at  last  is  Julius  Caesar? — 
All  strive  man's  gilded  glories  to  retain 
In  their  proud  emblems,  but  they  strive  in  vain. 


130  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

The  glowing  month  that. blazes  to  the  sun 
Received  its  name  from  fame  that  Julius  won ; 
Whom  Virgil  with  poetic  phrase  laments 
And  makes  divine  with  lofty  reverence : 
First  Roman  of  his  day,  Aurelia's  son, 
Who  joined  the  Rhine  and  Rhone  to  Rubicon; 
Then  turned  and,  facing  Rome's  armed  senate,  fell, 
Whose  story,  right  and  wrong,  historians  tell; 
Great  Caesar,  lifeless  in  the  forum — lay, 
'Twixt  maddened  friends  and  enemies  at  bay; 
Enthronged  around  the  Rostra's  stately  beaks, 
Where  Cicero  mute,  now  Anthony  speaks 
With  eloquence  of  pity,  grief  and  scorn; 
Where  Caesar's  statues  and  Caesar's  self  adorn, 
Whose  legions,  armed  in  awe,  around  him  come, 
Whose  gardens  lone  looked  on  from  the  Janiculum ; 
Nor  hears,  as  from  the  Regia  there  hard  by, 
Farewell !    farewell !    farewell !    Calpurnia  cry. 
Here  Rome  with  pageant's  pomp  had  laid  him  down 
Upon  the  Rostra's  marbled  floor  in  his  renown. 
Then  torches  lit  the  proud  funereal  pyre, 
Whereon  all  threw  and  fed  the  flaming  fire 
The  gorgeous  gowns,  in  which  musicians  sung, 
Soldiers,  their  armor,  courts,  their  benches  flung; 
Legionaries,  their  shields  and  bucklers  bring, 
Children  their  toys  and  pretty  playthings  fling; 
Women  their  jewels  all  and  mantles  threw — 
Aloft  in  fire  and  smoke  the  conqueror  flew. 
About  the  forum,  searching  ran  the  flames 
And  lit  up  old  historic  deeds  and  names; 
Temples  and  lofty  landmarks,   sacred  shrine, 
And  throned  above,  the  princely  Palatine. 
These,  in  their  foreign  fashioned  ways  intent, 
Vie  with  the  thrilling  terrors  of  lament; 


RIVERSIDE  131 

Those  run  with  torches,  threatening  severe, 
And  lurid  shadows  throw  o'er  men  austere; 
While  every  tie-stone  to  the  past  stood  out 
And  Fortune  asked  the  wherefores  of  this  rout 
That  flashing  far,  where  Alban  highlands  run, 
Then  westward  flung  made  blush  the  crimson  sun. 
Midst  fury  of  fierce  phrenzied  grief  engaged, 
The  strange  wild  obsequies*  of  Caesar  raged, 
Till  evening  shadows,  deepening  and  spent, 
Night  veiled  the  long  drawn  drama  of  lament. 
And  in  the  forum,  when  day's  tumult  fell, 
By  night  the  Jews  with  groans  their  grievance  tell 
As,  wailing  by  Jerusalem's  waste  wall, 
They  soothe  the  sorrows  of  Judea's  fall. 


*  These  obsequies  were  planned  to  fill  more  than  the  day.    Calpurnia,  the 
wife  of  Caesar. 


132  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX:    Part  II. 

Affected   fallacy:    Allies  of  pretence: 
Final  fate :    Man  primitive :    His  puzzled  powers 
Stumbles  upon  cause :    Why  he  exists : 
Wild   imaginings  :    Time-extension  asks  : 
In  feigned  perspective :    Fashions  a  world  : 
Victim  to  his  powers :    The  climate  of  mind : 
Blown  bushes  alive :    Awed  by  phenomena : 
Nature's   telling   silence :     Waxed-winged   analogy 
Purists  berate  the  now :    Poets  affect  rage : 
Sheer  unbounded  vanity :    Nature's  idle  ends  : 
Hard  historic  sense :    Paradox  of   reason : 
Find  in  fictions  rest:    Conjure  up  mystery: 
On  beyond  nature :    Faith's  searchlight : 
Deep  dreamed  poesies :    Mystic  training : 
For  serious,  things  feigned :    'Heathen'    fear : 
Myth  and  martyr :    Luxury  of  morbid  mind : 
Disease  of  time  and  temper  of  mankind : 
'Secret  knowledge  is  but  sorrow's  spy' : 
Alone  as  on  some  inlet  isle. 


THE    HIDDEN    MYSTERY  133 

INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  II. 

The  Hidden  Mystery: 

I. 

Have  forms  like  these  some  far  superior  sphere 
And  is  some  fathom  deep  hid  mystery  here, 
When  humbled  to  the  dust  and  left  alone, 
We  cleave  to  Nature's  heart  and  inner  zone  ? 
The  eye,  that  sorrow  dims,  shall  we  not  trust 
When  life  removes  and  reason  turns  to  rust? 
Is  this,  precise  and  plain,  a  thing  to  blind 
With  sheer  affected  fallacy,  nor  find 
What  we  would  fain  ignore,  desire  and  hope, 
Allies  of  the  pretence  with  which  we  cope, 
When  seeing  precious  being  full  depart, 
We  conjure  up  a  mystery  and  take  heart? 

On  final  Fate,  the  dim  veiled  vision  turns 

And  what  assuring  with  its  study  learns? 

What  causes,  reasons,  whys  and  wherefores  here 

Give  hope  and  promise  to  the  soul  sincere? 

Wrhat  wistful  feelings  rather  conscious  bind 

Enchant,  direct  and  dominate  the  mind? 

Man  primitive,  the  primate  of  earth's  realms, 

Least  with  these  queries  Fancy  overwhelms ; 

Composed  of  elements  that  war  to  thrive, 

Epitome  of  powers  that  briefly  strive, 

Then  fail  and  failing  fall  and  pass  away 

Into  the  deep,  sealed  silence  of  decay. 

Ages,  aeons  and  cycles  countless  pass, 

While  browsing  men  with  browsing  creatures  class ; 


134  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Then  life,  scarce  conscious  of  its  term  or  end, 
Could  least  of  all  to  mysteries  pretend; 
But  drew  its  bated  breath  amidst  alarm, 
Prevailed  awhile  and  ceased  nor  knew  the  harm ; 
Bound  fast  to  fate  and  occupied  with  strife, 
Then,  loosed  from  this,  thought  not  of  other  life; 
Till  he  of  happy  hunting  grounds  could  dream 
And  furnish  us  the  basis  of  our  theme, 
When  thoughtfully,   refraining  from  derision, 
We  quote  his  wilder  warrant  for  our  vision. 

As  man  advances,  his  domain  extends, 

And  much  to  myths  and  dreams  his  fancy  bends ; 

So  wondrous  plots  and  plans  around  him  rise, 

They  more  and  more  excite  his  keen  surprise. 

His  varied  puzzled  powers  all  demand 

To  read  the  riddles  of  world's  wonderland, 

And  when  he  turns  from  interest  in  things 

Concerning  self,  his  anxious  wonder  springs. 

Perplexed  and  charmed  by  Nature  and  her  laws, 

He  contemplates  and  stumbles  upon  cause. 

His  proud  but  piqued  philosophy  consists 

In  looking  for  a  cause  why  he  exists. 

To  solve,  explain  and  free  himself  from  mystery 

Becomes  his  problem  here  in  conscious  history. 

Now  plots,  creates,  evolves,  refines  and  dazed — 

Through   his  own   wonder-working — is  amazed, 

Though  prone  to  purpose  and  to  plotted  plan, 

Yet  man  himself  is  over-awed  by  man. 

He  sees  those  endless  wonders  at  a  glance 

That  myriad  ages  slow  have  wrought  from  chance. 

How  time  has  long  developed  is  forgot ; 

Results  appear,  the  process  parts  are  not. 


THE   HIDDEN    MYSTERY  135 

Ten  thousand  artful  accords  awe  the  eye 
And  fascinate  the  mind  as  life  flies  by. 
These  mazy,  magic  phantom  forms  of  earth 
To  wild  and  weird  imaginings  give  birth ; 
To  high  idealism  fyoth  lend  and  lead 
His  thoughts  and  thence  his  visionings  proceed; 
Then  phantoms  of  a  life  and  world  ideal 
Rise  and  immingling  with  the  life  so  real 
Cast,  in  alternate  gloom  and  gladdened  hope, 
The  features  of  his  brief  days'  narrow  scope. 

Man,  such  increasing  varied  pleasure  knows, 

So  ardent  and  so  sweetened  by  repose ; 

Finds  such  engaging  energetic  tasks 

He  cannot  leave  and  time-extension  asks ; 

Life,  bitter-sweet  and  burdened,  to  prolong, 

Which  he  betimes  betrays  and  for  a  song; 

But  sees  himself  in  feigned  perspective  thrown 

And  dreaming  seems  to  fathom  the  unknown. 

Whatever  hid  in  mystery  still  remains, 

Analogy  through  invention  fondly  feigns 

And  so  fulfills  and  renders  more  correct 

Those  intervals  where  Nature  shows  defect; 

As  when  some  lofty  earnest  human  art 

Its  cue  from  Nature  takes  but  to  depart; 

Then,  moved  by  all  the  marvels  of  his  dower, 

He  adds  new  marvels  of  creative  power; 

So  fashions  forth  a  world  presumed  to  please 

And  furnishes  with  will  and  wealth  and  ease; 

Extends  his  fond  prevision  to  new  spheres 

And  there  in  feigning  forms  he,  too,  appears ; 

By  life's  waste  wanton  resource  charmed,  o'ercome, 

E'en  though  its  details  sorely  trouble  some. 

Nature  no  sovereign  seems  from  man  apart, 


13^  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Himself  the  purpose  of  supremest  art. 
When  melancholy's  mood  upon  him  falls, 
This  question  louder  for  an  answer  calls. 
But  warm  emotions  nurtured  to  disease 
Make  a  condition  difficult  to  please ; 
Deep  brooding  here  disheartened  and  alone 
In  this  so  narrow,  morbid  conscious  zone, 
He  stirs  and  feeds  his  desperate  fond  hopes 
As  in  full  blinding  ignorance  he  gropes. 
Then  charmed  credulity  and  discontent 
With  faculties  perverse  but  provident 
Pursue  the  shadows  that  time  forward  flings 
And  hope  to  life  some  doubtful  solace  brings. 

II. 

When  fertile  Fancy  keeps  sage  Wisdom's  school 

Then  quick  these  wistful  feelings  lead  and  rule. 

'Design'  and  'purpose'  dominate  the  hours 

And  man  falls  victim  to  his  ready  powers, 

For  never  could  his  genius  quite  desist 

From  willing  what  he  wishes  to  exist ; 

Nor,  of  all  evidence  produced  as  such, 

Will  he  beware  of  that  which  proves  too  much. 

The  lofty  reason  that  gives  large  pretence, 

The  very  source  of  proud  pre-eminence, 

Now  drives  him  to  distraction  and  misleads 

With  strange  device,  invention,  shifts  and  creeds. 

Nor  yet  to  reason's  suasion  will  he  bend, 

But  must  to  occult  mysteries  pretend ; 

And  spurning  indications  sane  of  sense, 

And  judgment  just  from  plainest  evidence, 

He  forms  and  fashions  what  he  may  or  must 

And  throws  the  heavy  burden  upon  trust ; 


THE    HIDDEN    MYSTERY  137 

Content,  whatever  doubtful  he  proclaims, 
To  offer  under  lofty,  upward  aims. 
And  this  devoted  tension  of  the  mind, 
He  fancies  to  be  warranting  though  blind. 
And  all  in  vain  will  he  of  this  complain, 
This  madness  tutored  to  the  badgered  brain. 
Whatever  then  objectors  timid  cite, 
They  yet  remain  to  visions  vague  polite ; 
Respect  the  oracles  when  sages  scheme 
And  pardon  far-strayed  ethics  of  a  dream. 

Strange  power  has  the  climate  of  the  mind 
With  subtle  influence  to  warp  and  bind. 
Close  penned  and  paralleled  in  narrow  zone 
Man's  wit  to  weakness  and  deceit  is  prone. 
The  force  of  habit  and  assent  agree 
To  keep  alive  this  matchless  mystery, 
That  those  of  mental  mood,  of  keener  ken, 
Are  subject  to  the  thought  of  meaner  men, 
That  like  an  atmosphere  their  view  surrounds 
With  laws  invisible  and  blinding  bounds ; 
The  spirit  of  the  times,  concurrent  course 
Of  Time's  almighty  and  pervasive  force. 
As  temperature  makes  the  south  wind  kind, 
So  temperature,  feeling  forms  the  mind. 
Thus  powerful  the  sympathies  control 
And  would  in  one,  humanity  enrol. 

Whence  come  these  clouding  climates  of  the  mind 
That,  all  unseen,  man's  mental  prospects  bind? 
The  myriad  moody  fashions  of  the  day 
That,  through  and  over  all  ranks,  hold  their  sway, 
The  bias  of  the  hour,  the  trend  of  thought 
Are  well  into  man's  mental  orbit  wrought. 


138  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

In  days  of  witchcraft  wildest  spirit  lore 

Could  dupe  such  minds  as  Brown  and  Henry  More. 

The  madness,  told  in  Hecker's  Epidemics, 

The  wildness,  shown  in  dogmas  and  polemics ; 

The  things  affirmed,  none  dare  to  contradict, 

All  these  are  means  and  modes  of  climate  strict. 

Roman  reason*  quailed  in  great  Csesar's  hour, 

O'erawed  by  portents  from  some  dreaded  power; 

Bronze  statues  sweat,  strange  voices  fill  the  grove, 

The  templed  image  wept,  ghosts  pallid  rove; 

While  brutal  beasts  articulate  contend, 

Earth  quakes  and  storms  in  angry  floods  descend ; 

Purpose  to  see  in  omens,  dark  and  blind, 

That  was  the  temper  of  the  Roman  mind. 

Men  take  for  serious  feigned  and  fancied  things, 
Deem  spiritual  the  shadows,  the  unreal  flings, 
And,  penned  in  postulates  like  mountain  cliffs, 
Perceive  great  prospects  beyond  doubtful  ifs. 
Then  each,  the  other  faithless,  fierce  reproves, 
Forgetting  that  thought's   feigned  foundation  moves. 
Hazard  of  hazards,  nor  the  ethics  pure, 
To  praise  pretence  and  call  things  fancied  sure, 
As  if  right  reason  here  could  be  so  dared 
By  force  of  things,  not  proven  but  declared. 
Feigned  fictions,  though  the  generations  last, 
Inspired  by  deep  devotion  to  the  pas-t, 
Whose  other  view-points,  could  we  briefly  take 
And  see  the  how  and  why  of  thought,  they  make, 
Our  narrow  nursed  intelligence  should  clear 
From  false  conception,  ignorance  and  fear. 
How  grade  the  scale  of  fickle  Fancy's  worth 
And  give  just  value  to  a  mythic  birth? 

*  These  omens  preceded  and  followed  the  death  of  Julius  Caesar. 


THE   HIDDEN    MYSTERY  139 

Myth  marks  a  primal  stage  of  human  sense, 

That  has  lost  nothing  but  its  early  tense ; 

That  still  inheres  and  mingles  in  what  seems, 

But  gifteth  no  man  wiser  when  he  dreams. 

The  beast  that  thinks  blown  bushes  are  alive, 

The  dog  that  barks  at  bogeys,  moons  contrive, 

The  Greeks  who  stocked  with  gods  the  stellar  sphere 

And  we  rank  rather  as  odd  equals  here. 

The  shying  steed,  the  baying  dog,  the  wight 

Who  whistles  loud  to  shadows  of  the  night 

And  man,  who  blindly  worships  Nature's  laws, 

Are  all  o'erawed  by  phenomena  of  cause. 

When  sunk  the  sun,  red  hot,  beneath  the  lea, 

The  ancient  Germans*  heard  the  hissing  sea ! 

Those  were  the  days,  so  high  politeness  ran 

They  called  the  demon  "The  Black  gentleman." 

Have  gruesome  glimpses  from  men,  wild  and  queered, 

At  whom  the  wise  of  former  times  have  jeered, 

Bestirred  our  misty-minded,  awed  amaze? 

Do  we  give  wild  men's  dreams  and  demons  praise? 

If  spirit  be  the  same  as  savage  ghost, 

Shall  we  pursue  it  here  with  howling  host? 

As  when  in  pagan  days,  the  seer  was  heard, 

Shall  we  repeat  the  omens  of  the  bird? 

And  feign  and  fancifully  fashion  thought 

Out  of  symbol,  analogy  and  naught? 

If  autumn  birds  shall  south  instinctive  fly, 

Then  heavenward  in  turn  may  you  and  I  ? 

Thus  into  realms  remote  of  future  peer, 

Into  such  mysteries  as  we  know  not  here; 

Such  mysteries  we  must  ourselves  devise, 

For  that  gratuity  of  life  we  prize; 

*  Thinking  the  sun  set  in  the  ocean. 

7* 


140  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

So  forcing  feigned  and  fancied  expectation, 
By  methods,  quite  unknown  to  calculation, 
To  cheer  and  furnish  with  a  larger  scope 
A  life,  thought  weakened  by  diminished  hope. 
Spoiled  child  of  Nature !    helpless  to  fulfill 
The  endless  longings  of  his  humored  will, 
Who  through  the  spirit  flies  from  Nature's  eye 
And  there  at  last  declares  an  alibi ; 
Then  happy  rests  in  earth  beneath  a  stone, 
Who  has  found  refuge  there  from  the  unknown. 
And  who  would  question  further,  let  rely 
On  Nature's  telling  silence  for  reply. 

III. 

What  means  this  favored  emblem  of  the  grain 
That  buried  dies  a  while  and  lives  again? 
Alas !  that  only  Folly  should  so  trace 
This  simple  method  to  restore  the  race. 
Did  ever  vestal  buried,  walled  alive, 
Then  reappear  and  in  fresh  form  survive? 
Did  ever  warrior  brave,  beneath  the  mold, 
Come  forth  anew  in  frame  again  as  bold? 
Though  Daedalus  and  Icarus-like,  might  we 
With  waxened  wings  attempt  to  cross  the  sea, 
Not  far,  faint  happy  hope  and  trust  will  fly 
On  waxed-winged  tokens  of  analogy. 

What  units  of  world's  measurements  are  we, 
That  august  Nature  should  with  us  agree 
To  grant  our  plaintive  wishes  and  petition, 
When  we  approach  her  with  all  fine  ambition 
And  outfit,  ready  for  another  start, 
The  moment,  cutting  loose  here,  we  depart? 
'Tis  not  that  sweet  desire  obstructs  the  thought 


THE    HIDDEN    MYSTERY  141 

But  sweet  desire,  itself  inane,  proves  naught. 
For  when  we   question  matters   transcendental, 
They  vanish,  vague  and  purely  sentimental. 
Presumption  then  gives  argument  its  gist, 
To  conjure  in  the  dark  who  can  resist? 
Since,  out  of  fostered  fear  and  want  of  scope, 
Spring  up  fair  faith  and  blossoming  of  hope. 

So  precious  life  fares  faithfully  along, 

Its  mazed,  mercurial  trust,  now  weak,  now  strong; 

Disdained,  despised,  affectedly  maligned, 

Then  quick  tc  all  life's  wayward  course  resigned, 

Man  hopes,  desponds  and  cultivates  his  fears, 

But  openly  regrets  fast  passing  years. 

The  more  the  future  looming  is  apprized, 

The  present  by  compare  is  more  despised. 

Purists  stir  pathos  -with  appeal  and  how  ? 

They  win  the  future  by  berating  now. 

Poets  affect  and  lash  them  to  a  rage, 

If  this  life  only  shall  their  powers  engage. 

And  swift  their  ingrate,  ill-feigned  phrenzies  fly 

As  they  beyond,  the  mirage  of  the  present,  spy. 

Watts  cries  "How  vain  is  all  beneath  the  skies !" 

Again,  "How  slender  all  the  fondest  ties  !" 

And  as  for  poets  of  a  greater  name, 

Their  thought  is  subject  to  their  thirst  for  fame. 

So  far  astray  has  blinding  impulse  led 

The  high-flown  humors  of  the  heated  head. 

Such  strange,  odd  contradictions  have  their  play 

In  human  sympathies'  close  binding  sway. 

Philosopher  indeed !    who  cannot  see 

How  far  idealism  has  gone  mad  and  he. 

For  this,  all  pure  pretence  in  thought  and  mind, 

But  shows  exaggerated  ego  of  mankind. 


142  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

To  dream,  invent,  conceive ;    things  hid  surmise, 
Presume  and  postulate  and  all  premise; 
Consult  willed  wants  and  what  shall  better  please, 
It  matters  not  and  comes  with  equal  ease; 
Indulgent  mood  to  grant  and  proud  persist 
Along  loved  lines  that  least  to  him  resist, 
This  merit  mark,  by  which  we  may  be  moved, 
What  ne'er  exists,  that  cannot  be  disproved. 

But  credulous  and  sheer  unbounded  vanity 
Cannot  conceal  man's  luckless  limp  inanity; 
Who  conscious,  knows  full  well  how  little  Earth 
Contemplates  his  forlorn,  unhappy  birth ; 
Betrays,  molests  and  flings  like  chaff  around, 
Entreats  with  scorn  above,  then  underground; 
Where  gruesome  fear  affrights  him  like  a  thief, 
Where  knowledge  never  overtakes  belief, 
While  round  the  empty  void,  he  blindly  beats, 
Then,  out  of  void  and  mystery,  retreats. 

And  further :    life  in  animals,  as  dear 
Throughout  all  genuses  and  species  here, 
With  'souls'  as  evident,  nor  quite  their  own, 
Have  they  some  similar  provision  shown? 
But  man,  intent  on  precious  self  and  state, 
Would  leave  the  creatures  to  their  fearless  fate. 
Regarding  them,  accepts  with  equal  ease 
The  mortal  end,  all  life  in  Nature  sees. 
Who  makes  no  effort  here  to  save  their  souls, 
Devours  their  bodies  and  their  breath  controls ; 
Whose  lives,  in  manners,  modes  and  actions  show 
Fates  joined  with  man's  in  common  bonds  below. 
Let  animals  be  wise  and  when  they  plan 
A  second  life  beyond,  then  exclude  man. 


THE    HIDDEN    MYSTERY  143 

Great  powers  around !  what  gods  to  us,  ye  be 

To  these  sad  herds,  such  seeming  gods  are  we ! 

This  circumstance  alone  full  faulty  proves 

The  factious,  partial  import  of  his  views; 

In  vain,  his  narrow  artifice  declares 

That  Nature's  law  to  them,  for  him  forbears. 

And  this,  the  neolithic  cruel  creature  man, 

That  late  with  tiger  in  the  striping  jungle  ran; 

Through  wastes  and  wilds,  where  normal  and  alone, 

He  chased  and  slew  and.  savage,  gnawed  his  bone. 

Does  not  our  wight  now,  take  him  all  in  all, 

Compared  with  other  creatures,  great  and  small, 

Answer  well  careless  Nature's  idle  ends, 

Until  to  plans  so  lofty  he  pretends 

And  still  again,  the  quenchless  query  calls 

That  Caesar  answered  in  the  Senate  halls?* 

But  man,  if  not  of  consequence  to  earth, 
Does  yet  enliven  her  with  toil  and  mirth ; 
With  touching  pathos,  gives  himself,  a  mite, 
To  adorn  earth  with  monumental  site. 
So  fiercely  strives  to  lift  him,  a  degree, 
He  merits  well  of  senseless  powers  that  be. 
Such  find  the  raw  material  of  man 
Original  and  naive,  untouched  by  plan ; 
And  such,  the  motives  strenuous  that  sway 
Some  sanguine  expectations  of  the  day. 

IV. 

Recurring,  metaphysic  thoughts  are  these, 

That  evermore,  we  ponder  if  we  please 

And  study,  rather  with  the  heart  than  head, 

Resolved  by  clear  affections  to  be  led; 

The  heart  as  hale  a  part  of  man  as  head, 

*  Julius  Caesar,  in  the  Senate,  made  a  denial  of  immortality  like  Pliny 
and  Cato. 


144  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

So,  round  and  round,  the  whirling  view  is  sped. 

Words  show  shifting  temperatures  of  thought 

And  with  what  more  or  less  of  feeling  wrought ; 

But  words  are  helpless  true  wisdom  to  reveal, 

Its  shadow  cast,  but  wisdom's  self  conceal ; 

Evasive,  dumb,  responsive  as  the  Sphinx, 

Heart,  head,  soul  or  spirit,  each  one  here  blinks ; 

To  unmask  mystery,  its  meaning  rose, 

But  what  it  truly  signifies,  who  knows  ? 

Language  itself,  worn  out,  diseased,  doth  rot 

And  standing  meaningless  were  well  forgot. 

But  few  perceive  those  phrases  of  perfunction, 

That  once  expressed  and  now  have  lost  their  unction. 

Besides,  in  this  mad  metaphysic  struggle. 

Nothing  is  surer  than  that  words  will  juggle. 

First  thought  compelled  the  needful  terms  it  wrought 

Then  terms  alone  compel  the  tender  thought. 

And  whatsoever  thing,  nor  seen  nor  heard, 

Man  most  desires,  he  finds  it  in  a  word, 

Deceitful  as  the  fall's  fixed  equinox 

Or  the  stray  shadow  in  the  letter-box. 

Then  Lesbia,  Livia,  Stella,  liquid  sweet, 

Pauline,  Aurelia  and  Tullia  we  meet; 

And  these  so  much  despoil  and  more  debase 

To  express  affected  tenderness  and  grace. 

Until,  once  more,  we  may  repeat  old  fame 

Not  yet  forgot,  what  is  there  in  a  name? 

Have  we  no  simple,  certain  ready  means 

By  which  to  recognize  these  troubled  dreams — 

No  sooth  service  of  hard,  historic  sense, 

No  sane  sanction  of  laws  of  evidence? 

That  would  some  sources,  long  lost,  timely  tell 

And  haul  up  Truth,  from  bottom  of  the  well? 

As  in  visions,  the  fanciful  seems  real, 

So,  to  our  waking  thought,  seems  the  ideal. 


THE   HIDDEN    MYSTERY  145 

After  so  long  persistence  in  their  place, 
Olden  fancies  of  fancy  lose  the  trace ; 
Hardened,  renowned  and  petrified  in  form, 
And  venerable,  through  attack  and  storm, 
Entrenched  with  all  the  power  of  learned  art 
And  dominant,  more  widely  in  the  heart ; 
As  profiting  to  censure  and  reproof, 
As  serving  high  career  to  life's  behoof, 
Proud  and  lofty  station  and  vantage  ground, 
To  honor,  rank  and  gilded  glory  bound, 
Courts,  councils  and  decrees ;    till  all  o'erborne, 
The  standards  high  of  truth,  of  truth  are  shorn. 

Such  modes  of  thought  as  promise  to  persist 
Show  only  things  not  possible  exist. 
This,  the  proper  paradox  of  the  reason, 
That  charms  the  mind  that  to  mind  is  treason. 
This  rule  of  ancient  faith,  Tertullian's  trust, 
To  believe,  both  because  he  would  and  must 
And  so  to  cope  with  mysteries,  dark,  unseen, 
He  could  believe  beyond  what  words  might  mean. 
For  idling  words  may  come  in  meaning  short, 
Though  great  conveniences  of  flying  thought; 
Since  minds  are  so  pleased,  pacified  or  moved 
By  things  so  feigned  they  cannot  be  disproved. 
Reason  itself  has  next  to  naught  to  do 
With  many  problems  that  man  puzzles  through ; 
Accepts,  adopts  for  fair  compliance'  sake, 
Relieved  of  thought  to  think  how  others  spake. 
If  prophets  with  clairvoyant  vision's  trust 
Feel  future  in  the  air  to  be,  it  must ; 
So  soon  is  man  to  fullest  wisdom  brought, 
When  learning  is  the  stop-gap  to  his  thought. 
For  useless  'tis  to  plead  and  controvert 


146  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

When  lo !    the  premise  is  itself  pervert. 
Thus  searching  as  we  go,  from  zone  to  zone, 
We  find  warm  worship  offered  the  unknown. 
Though  man  assumes  to  be  of  truth  in  quest, 
He  never  fails  to  find  in  fictions  rest 
And  feigning  far,  a  mode  of  mind  extols 
The  child  exhibits  with  her  dandled  dolls. 
From  age  to  age,  the  plots  of  man  remain 
And  then  explode  and  man  must  plot  again. 

In  these  inquiries,  when  the  reason  fails, 
The  long  developed  instinct  still  prevails ; 
The  nurtured,  full  unanimous  desire 
To  advance  to  a  sure  contentment  higher. 
If,  on  the  evils  that  attend  men's  lives, 
This  want,  desire  and  longing  passion  thrives, 
Yet  more  the  sense  of  happiness  and  power 
Gives  love  of  life  and  pathos  to  the  hour. 
The  love  of  happy  life !  and  therein  lies 
The  motive  of  our  faith's  vast  enterprise; 
To  see  this  precious  being  full  depart, 
Then  conjure  up  a  mystery  and  take  heart 
And  seek  afar  a  world  where  lurks  no  fear 
No  passion's  pain,  naught  "quarrelsome  to  ear." 

This  last  resource,  development  contains ; 

Feigned  skill  in  divination  yet  remains ; 

The  mystic  touch,  intangible  to  sense, 

That  solves  these  puzzle-problems  with  pretence 

And  on  beyond  Nature,  finds  a  nature  still 

To  answer  and  engage  the  human  will. 

Like  sounds  that  strike  too  high  or  low  to  hear, 

Some  inmost  consciousness  may  scarce  appear. 

Like  words  that  signals  from  the  face,  remark, 


THE    HIDDEN    MYSTERY  147 

But  losing  these,*  lose  meaning  in  the  dark; 
For  darkness  visible  oft  blind  conceals 
The  certainties  unknown  that  light  reveals. 

And  so,  unfolding  here  his  high  ideal, 

Man  raises  high  the  prospects  of  the  real 

And  ushered  into  life,  starts  life's  career, 

More  earnest,  thinking  of  another  sphere. 

Thus  'Cause,'  'Ontology'  and  'Future  Clime' 

Bewitch  poor  denizens  of  space  and  time. 

For  love  of  life. and  courtesy  to  soul 

Push  human  faculties  beyond  control, 

When  upon  things,  invisible  to  sight, 

Man  turns  the  ardent  rays  of  faith's  search-light 

And  visits  voids,  impassable  to  sense, 

Inspects,  divines,  reveals  with  learned  pretence ; 

Nor  does  divine  with  vision  clear,  intent 

The  deep  dreamed  poesies,  he  doth  invent; 

Which  have  no  other  omens  than  a   name, 

For  anthropomorphic  means  much  the  same; 

That  is,  such  scheme  of  world,  man  would  create, 

Were  man  himself  not  liege,  but  lord  of  Fate. 

Relations  only,  to  his  thoughtful  sense, 

Are  all  these  wonder-works  of  Providence. 

Reason  spells  out  what  Nature  would  declare, 

But,  of  the  supernatural  bids  beware ! 

Vast  things  lie  long  in  brooding  not  yet  shown, 

Hid   like   Cimmeria,   dark  because  unknown. 

V. 

So  resolute  and  far  from  reason  raised, 
Shall  blind  persistency  of  will  be  praised? 
May  mere  inertia  of  earth's  toils  and  strife 

*  Indian  tribes  make  words  more  meaning  by  expressions  of  the  face. 
The  Bosjesmans  cannot  be  understood  in  the  dark.     (Vignoli.) 

8 


148  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Evolve  vague  visions  of  a  future  life? 

Can  simple  longing,  passionate  desire 

Unveil  the  hidden  reason,  we  inquire? 

Or  do  these  feelings,  though  of  kindred  kind, 

Betray  the  long  trained  malady  of  mind? 

For  centuries  of  mystic,  morbid  training 

Have  taught  man  melancholy  and  complaining; 

Have  sown  disease  and  awed  the  helpless  heart, 

In  name  of  ethics  and  the  spirit  part; 

Then  things,  unreal  and  meaningless,  are  brought 

To  dull  the  aching  of  his  tortured  thought; 

Who  scorns  the  known  and  takes  for  serious  alone, 

Things  feigned,  mysterious,  beyond  the  known. 

'Tis  not  that  thoughtful  queries  are  forbid 

That  still  as  much  as  ever  leave  things  hid; 

With  worlds,  the  more  we  feign,  more  truth  attain, 

Fancy  drives  fancy  forth  to  guess  again; 

But  thoughtful  queries  chiefly  give  offence, 

That  offer,  for  the  truth,  what  hope  invents, 

And  promise  freely,  with  all  just  rebate, 

To  soothe  the  sadness  that  they  cultivate. 

High  potent  power  and  purpose  constant  go 

To  mum  the  mind  and  keep  perception  low. 

And  still  to-day,  the  lower  reason  rules 

O'er  higher  grade  in  culture  of  the  schools; 

Where  heathen  fear  and  fancy  still  survive 

To  keep  both  myth  and  martyr  just  alive. 

Nor  can  we  idly  feign  false  hope  without 

Long  lingering  incumbrances  of  doubt. 

Man  cannot  so  fair  reason  foul  defraud 

And  not  be  certain  of  his  just  reward, 

In  vague  unrest,  despair  and  heart's  ill  ease, 

Who  thinks  fair  feigning's  raptures  ought  to  please. 


THE   HIDDEN    MYSTERY  149 

Ages  of  flattered  feigning,  weighed  precise, 
Would  never  make  pretension  less  a  vice. 
Problems  recoil  when  theories  overwork, 
Behind  whose  barriers  mysteries  still  lurk. 
When  wonders  simplified,  blind  men  declared, 
Wisdom  in  folly  wasted  but  was  aired. 
Things  faked  can  fewest  services  perform, 
Pretence  so  pure  makes  hosts  of  fancies  swarm ; 
Yet  man  will  strain  and  keek  beyond  his  ken 
To  make  himself  of  worlds  the  denizen, 
Till,  of  all  wonders,  ''sickness  of  the  soul" 
Absorbs  the  life  and  fills  a  ruling  role; 
Disease  of  time  and  temper  of  mankind, 
The  luxury  of  mumped  and  morbid  mind. 

Whether  to  right  this  melancholy  mood 
With  sane  instructions  and  so  cease  to  brood 
And  give  to  life  its  native  joy  and  name 
And  thus  the  actual  source  of  joys  reclaim; 
Or  give  man  melancholy  and  loved  grief 
And  bid  him,  in  the  future,  find  relief : 
Still  survives  the  power  for  good  or  God 
And  virtue  still  remains  its  own  reward; 
Then  reverence  and  love  and  faithful  fear 
Continue  to  supply  their  service  here, 
While  life  sane,  actual  and  full  as  real, 
Still  near  and  nearer  approaches  the  ideal. 
But  this,  however  stoutly  we  may  preach, 
This  life  ideal  we  must  never  reach. 
Nor  can  we  ask  of  bodies  doomed  to  die, 
Since  "secret  knowledge  is  but  sorrow's  spy," 
To  what  abode  unseen  they  please  to  go, 
For  here  blind  mortals  have  no  means  to  know. 
And  as  the  past,  unknown,  stirred  no  felt  fears 


150  INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY 

Nor  made  one  dread  his  fate  to  live  life's  years, 
So  let  the  future,  roused  to  time,  awake 
Nor  cherish  mystery,  dear  for  its  own  sake. 

Let  stand  alone,  as  on  some  inlet  isle, 

This  creature  of  sublime  exalted  style; 

Unrivalled,  unapproached  by  aught  around 

In  starry  sky  or  shoreless  sea  or  ground. 

Let  Fate  impel  his  good  and  evil  will, 

As  helpless,  weak  and  blind  he  struggles  still ; 

Now  prone  with  lost,  disheartened  hope  to  lie, 

Then  upward  with  aspiring  aim  to  fly — 

A  ruling  potentate  with  sceptered  rod 

Who  measures  and  compares  alone  with  God — 

Idealized  in  sheer,  stressed  and  strained  degree 

To  answer  to  sheer,  feigned,  faked  mystery. 

Here  has  fair  Nature  free  and  boundless  writ 

The  charmful  lurings  that  pique  mortal  wit : 

These  spur  blind  beings  of  a  transient  hour 

To  seek  hid  reasons  for  their  passing  power : 

These  lead  discretion  dazed  so  far  astray, 

To  look  for  causes  of  a  causeless  day 

And  give  the  problem  to  poor  human  wit 

To  plead  and  puzzle  with  the  infinite. 

While  thus  he  revels,  wrapt  in  vision's  dreams, 

And  adds  new  nobler  world  to  that  which  seems, 

Reason  would  fain  return  to  ward  the  way 

And  bring  lost  bearings  back  to  dreamer's  day. 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  III. 


152  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX :    Part  III. 

This  thinking  matter:  Soul,  the  puzzle  of  ages: 

Sentient  feeling's  force :    Mere  self  tension : 

Life  the  limit :    That  pathless  way :    Some  electric  spark 

Phrenzied  poet's  visions:    Rapping  down  the  alphabet: 

Fetish,  totem:    Conjured  spells:  Red  Indian  Zeus. 

John  Milton  thought :    Such  droll  intelligence : 

'Fabling  heathen'   in  our  turn:    Primitive  symbols: 

Statues  of  Daedalus :    Faith's  zealous  zone : 

Jupiter's  temples  gave  way :    Wisdom  of   Apollo : 

A  fund  of  fear :    Whence  fog-fancies : 

Nations  lend  myths :    Stimulus  to  dreams : 

Egypt  a  tomb :    Where  sun-god  sank : 

Osiris'  judgment  hall:    That  boundless  while: 

When  Memnon  spoke :    Mother  land  of  faith : 

The  vales  of  Nile  :    No  echoes  murmur : 

In  Grecian  grief,  the  paean :    Zephyrs  fan  the  pyre : 

Life's  Aegean  mystery :    The  Romans  brave : 

Their  dirges   singing :    On  Flaminian  way : 

O'er  wide-wayed  seas :    Kaulbach  draws  fabled  fight : 

Strife  of  Attila  with  Theodoric's  dread  Visigoths: 

Valhallas  mix  their  sweeter  dreams. 


SPIRIT   LIFE   AND   LORE  153 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  III. 

Spirit  Life  and  Lore: 

I. 

They  teach,  who  question  not  the  body  dies, 
That  life  remains  and  in  the  spirit  lies, 
Distilled  from  out  the  senseless  frame  at  rest 
And  floats  away  on  tiding  Time's  own  test. 
To  spirit-essence  rare,  thought  early  ran 
And  so  defined  this  'thinking-matter,'  man ; 
A  shining  soul,  immured  in  common  clay, 
That  came  to  earth  for  short  or  longer  stay. 
None  could  discern  where  distant  realms  impend, 
In  which  to  dwell  anon  he  would  pretend, 
Yet  naught  could  check  or  thwart  or  overturn 
The  longing  hopes,  his  pains  and  pleasures  earn; 
The  foil  and  fancy  of  the  troubled  mind, 
The  stay  and  comfort  of  aggrieved  mankind. 

The  puzzle  of  ages  all  is  soul  confessed 

And  now  termed  playfully    'the  body's  guest' 

Of  brain  and  breast,  where  it  may  shelter  find, 

And  be,  so  far,  identical  with  mind. 

It  gives  the  name  to  sentient  feeling's  force, 

As  that  by  which  we  move  and  guide  our  course; 

Both  wish  and  will  to  do,  perceive,  bear  sway, 

A  power  the  body  gives  but  must  obey : 

Its  animating  source,  the  ancients  say, 

The  moderns  call  'life's  principle'  to-day; 

The  fountain  of  its  joy,  the  essence  fine 

Of  man :    for  soul,  still  probing,  some  divine 

Apart  from  body  and  from  mind,  the  soul 

Of  finer  form  and  fire,  itself  a  whole; 


154  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

An  entity,  apart  from  head  and  heart, 

And  furnishes  to-day  the  juggler's  art. 

All  bodies  sleep ;   all  souls  fly  forth  awake ; 

Dreams  are  incidents  of  the  trips  they  take. 

The  'shade'  assumed  to  be  the  spirit  norm, 

Its  outer  must  to  inner  shape  conform. 

It  was  the  type  and  setting  of  the  soul 

That  might  still  hover  round  and  viewless  stroll; 

Real  or  unreal,  robed  or  unrobed  and  bare, 

If  closely  pressed,  it  vanished  in  the  air. 

The  ancients  found  the  spirit,  if  not  heart, 

"All  in  the  whole  and  all  in  every  part; 

For,  of  the  soul,  the  body  form  doth  take; 

For  soul  is  form  and  doth  the  body  make" — 

Its  precious  prison,  tenement  and  inn 

And  furnished  forth  with  ordered  discipline ; 

'Envelope,'  'house,'  'clay-cottage'  now  'tis  called, 

Peeping  through  chinks  of  sense,  the  soul  is  walled 

And  where  the  ganglia  of  the  brain  enroll,* 

There  rests  the  very  'palace  of  the  soul.' 

Nay,  some  conceive,  not  equal  in  each  part, 

Since  sensibility  differs  in  its  smart. 

These  others  then,  who  full  as  close  observe, 

Declare  it  must  be  resident  in  nerve. 

But,  hid  in  stomach  other  some  are  sure 

For  without  that,  no  spirit  would  endure. 

It  still  might  be,  who  knows?  fire,  blood  or  brain, 

For  all  these  elements  the  Greeks  sustain. 

The  Stoic  Zeno  thought  his  soul  a  fire, 

That,  flaming  here  like  sunlight,  would  expire. 

Aristof  found  the  soul  in  mere  self-tension, 

*  "What  you  call  soul  is  the  nervous  center  in  which  all  sensitive  chords 
concentrate." — Taine. 
t  Aristoxenus. 


SPIRIT   LIFE   AND   LORE  155 

Like  sound  from  instrument  in  sweet  convention; 

Like  life  and  motion  in  all  means  mechanic 

Or  movement  in  things,  more  or  less  organic. 

When  all  his  books  were  put  in  file  and  roll, 

Thought  Cicero  his  house  had  got  a  soul. 

Dicgearchus  held  soul  was  naught  but  name, 

A  very  great  convenience  to  the  frame. 

As  such  the  thing  was  but  a  breath  affair, 

A  vapor  called,  a  spark  of  living  air. 

And,  when  the  breath  has  from  the  body  flown, 

The  soul  of  body  is  no  longer  known. 

Not  like  the  spider,  in  his  web  concealed, 

Is  this,  within  its  own  abode,  revealed : 

Whatever  deep  and  hid  in  wisdom  tell, 

Man  cannot  predicate  beyond  the  cell, 

That  mind  and  soul  and  body  holds  in  one, 

But  cannot  signify  quite  how  'tis  done. 

Prior  to  consciousness,  the  soul  awakes 

Out  of  long  brooding  and  of  life  partakes. 

These  render  life,  the  limit  of  the  soul, 

Those  reckon  life  to  be  the  starting  goal; 

But  how  to  cross  from  animal  to  soul, 

How  that  pathless  way  mysterious  unroll? 

Does  some  electric  spark  within  us  grow 

And  vegetate  alive  and  whiling  glow? 

The  psychic  force,  telepathy,  mind  reading — 

What  more  mixed  mysteries  will  come  impleading 

To  full  explain  each  other's  feints  and  show 

The  musing  mind,  inquiring  what  to  know? 

Of  myriad  spirits  free,  are  they  not  few 

Who,  mid  the  silences  of  time,  break  through? 

All  this  presents  a  new  creative  plan 

Which  plots  a  second  man  within  the  man. 


156  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Nay,  he  has  never  yet  found  out  the  goal 
Nor  yet  perceived  the  whereness  of  the  soul. 
No  evidence,  not  begged,  have  we  to  plead 
That  spirit  moves  beyond  the  life  we  lead 
Or  could  exist  elsewhere  without  a  form, 
In  which  to  dwell,  coincident  and  warm. 
The  Christian  fancies  sleeping  soul  will  wake 
And  then  of  greater  joy  and  peace  partake; 
But  needs  a  servant,  makes  the  body  rise 
And  so,  with  body  new,  rejoins  the  skies. 
If  this  should  seem  and  'tis  a  slender  score, 
See  Taine  and  Bain  and  Plato's  shade  for  more. 
But  when  from  definition  all  refrain, 
Here  still,  the  fond  enigma  will  remain 
And  thus,  from  all  the  long  and  wordy  strife, 
The  soul  comes  forth,  the  mystery  of  life ; 
The  very  sum  of  fellow  functions  mingling, 
Here  now  in  sense  alert  with  full  blood  tingling 
That  vibrates  through  the  multitude  of  means 
At  work  within  the  body's  hidden  screens 
And  is  the  consciousness  in  form  and  power 
Of  life's  loved,  fleeting,  wistful,  wondrous  dower; 
And  then  decays,  waste  formless  and  forlorn, 
To  seek  the  earth,  the  home  where  it  was  born. 
Yet,  if  perchance  an  essence  independent 
That  flying  here  and  there  appears  resplendent — 
And  journeys  on,  each  passing  life  a  stay 
And  death,  merely  from  life  to  life  the  way — 
Pressing  in  transmigration  on  and  proving 
The  soul  out,  looking  as  in  May  for  moving — 
The  pure  miraculous  in  motion  this 
And  dreaming  happily  may  end  in  bliss, 
While  homes  eternal,  'sculptured  in  the  sky,' 
Shall  fill  the  poet's  song  of  by  and  by. 


SPIRIT  LIFE   AND   LORE  157 

Unfolding  out  of  wondrous  things  obscure, 
Thus  spring  all  varied  schemes  and  shifts,  not  sure, 
With  plots  and  plans,  weird,  manifold  and  strange 
As  suited  to  fill  Nature's  boundless  range. 
Life's  inmost  essence  here,  so  vital  seems, 
One  cannot  well  indulge  in  lifeless  dreams. 
Each  joyful  breath  contributes  to  extend 
The  sum  of  life,  unconscious  of  the  end. 
So  loved  is  life,  with  its  forgotten  aches, 
So  sweet  is  effort  that  such  joyance  takes, 
Affection,  that  plucks  pleasure  among  friends, 
Has  tearful  recompense,  if  soon  it  ends. 
Life's  love  and  pathos,  rounded  with  a  breath, 
Give  silent,  sealed  significance  to  Death, 
Who  warning  waits,  yet  rarely  coming  late, 
Dissolves  earth's  splendid  fair  illumined  fete. 

II. 

As  crystal  clear,  are  those  primeval  dreams, 
The  mythic  lores  with  which  man's  vision  teems, 
Of  phantom  forms,  sage  oracles  and  magic, 
Of  phrenzied  poets'  visions,  tranced  and  tragic. 
Each,  to  its  own  time's  thrift  and  purpose  true, 
Bears  for  all  others  some  poetic  view. 
These  varied  modes  of  independent  thought, 
From  ancient  ages,  long  successive,  brought, 
Evolving,  step  by  step,  in  legend  lines, 
Have  come  to  us  with  many  counter-signs 
From  strange  and  distant  days ;    survival  hoar 
As  fetish,  totem  with  primeval  lore 
Of  olden  earth  and  sea  and  sky  and  star 
And  Nature's  inmost,  hid  phenomena. 


158  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

As  wonder  more  of  mystery  discerned, 

Then  fear  to  awe  and  love  to  worship  turned. 

Of  what  man  knows  the  least,  he  feigns  the  most ; 

Hence  spirit,  shade  and  dread  house-haunting  ghost. 

In  times  when  seer  and  sooth  and  omens  throve, 

When  worship  turned  to  Bacchus,  Mars  and  Jove, 

Breath  was  the  soul  and  bore  the  soul  awav, 

As  animism  and  spirit  prove  to-day. 

This  lesson,  due  to  early  human  fears, 

Retains  its  strange  admixture  of  ideas, 

Encountered  from  the  childly  days  of  man, 

And  still  surviving  in  his  present  plan ; 

Not  quite  forgotten  and  dismissed  while  yet, 

Our  ghosts  come,  rapping  down  the  alphabet. 

Fetish  still  guards  with  power  of  spirit-charm 

To  influence  fortune  and  to  keep  from  harm, 

To  hold  men's  veneration  and  respect 

With  conjured  spells  and  amulets  select. 

Animistic  totem  hides  its  lore  obscure 

That  creature-worship   feigns,  ancestral  pure. 

The  goose,  the  bear,  the  wolf,  the  croaking  raven 

These,  one  and  all,  give  the  soul  a  haven. 

Yet  clear-obscure  is  many  a  mode  of  thought, 

With  childlike  humor  and  vague  fancy  wrought, 

To  vest  mind,  sense  and  soul  in  soulless  things ; 

That  stars  were  men,  that  rain  wears  dragon's  wings ; 

That  sprites  with  crooked  legs  and  demons  daunt, 

Witches  in  wolves  and  ghosts  in  tigers  haunt. 

Gods  then  begin  their  reigns,  more  or  less  abstruse, 

And  savages  have  their  red  Indian  Zeus. 

Each,  in  its  sphere,  secure  from  all  assaults, 

Each  seems  and  is  to  other  wholly  false. 

And  when  some  cried  for  rain  and  all  for  odds 


SPIRIT  LIFE   AND   LORE  159 

It  brought  what  sharp  dilemma  to  the  gods ! 

Such  wonderments,  with  as  much  ease,  contrive, 

As  children  fancy  statues  are  alive. 

These  rude,  untutored  feignings,  poets  serve 

And  fabulous  in  mythic  state  preserve; 

For  instance,  in  his  rather  recent  age, 

John  Milton  thought  in  mythologic  stage 

And  fell  into  the  purled  Pierian  font, 

Nearby  where  Xerxes  flogged  the  Hellespont. 

And  Xerxes  wept  to  look  upon  his  hosts 

To  think  how  soon  the  myriads  would  be  ghosts. 

Man,  so  amazed  by  the  marvel  of  his  birth, 

Constructs  more  marvels  than  he  finds  on  earth. 

All  this,  as  offered,  we  cannot  refuse 

In  place  of  some  king's  jester  to  amuse. 

Such  droll  intelligence  may  well  be  sought, 

Learning  to  pass  from  mode  to  mode  of  thought 

And  visit  varied  climates  of  the  mind, 

Within  this  weather-coated  world,  confined. 

Fancy  may  wander  to  her  sky-light  star, 

While  reason  sees  things  nearer  as  they  are. 

For  truth,  in  haste  through  sooth  and  sibyl  sought, 

Comes  slowly  to  long  waiting  afterthought. 

These  fancies  have  for  us  no  purpose  true, 

Shall  ours  serve  those  who  take  a  later  view? 

Not  wary  wise,  if  we  have  yet  to  learn 

We  shall  be  "fabling  heathen"  in  our  turn. 

Strange !  if  these  shifts  in  man's  so  thrifty  scheming 

Prove  nothing,  nothing  but  the  power  of  dreaming. 

Now,  should  we  look  to  past  and  finished  histories, 
Greece  shows  her  Delphic  shrine  and  Rome  her  mysteries. 
Well  pleased  themselves  with  homage  and  all  that, 
While  round  the  hearth  their  proud  penates  sat. 


l6o  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

From  varied  fusing  cults*  Olympian  Jove, 

In  process  moulding,  grew  divine  and  throve. 

The  stocks  and  stones  have  served  man's  humble  thought, 

The  symbols  feigned  of  worship  first  were  wrought 

Howe'er — the  gods  upon  Olympus  stood, 

The  first  known  deities  of  Greece  were  wood. 

We  may  deny  that  sculptures  ever  talked, 

But  statuesf  made  by  Daedalus  have  walked; 

As  when  Apollo's  statue  moved  itself  to  show 

The  oracle^  would  tell  what  oracle  should  know. 

The  wisdom  of  Apollo  came  in  smoke 

And  rose  up  from  the  tripod,  as  from  coke. 

It  gave  delirium  to  the  prophet's  mien; 

Whate'er  was  heard,  yet  naught  but  smoke  was  seen. 

Then  augurs  would  predict,  display  their  rods 

And  lay  things,  remnant  'on  the  knees  of  gods.' 

The  Greek  thought  man.  how  naive  was  the  whim! 

"As  useful  to  Zeus  as  Zeus  was  to  him."§ 

Men  look  mute  mystery  furtive  in  the  face, 

Then  make  its  silence  sanction  of  their  grace, 

As  if  the  service  and  the  recompense 

Were  not  the  very  sanction  of  their  sense. 

The  things  above,  beyond  and  past  the  known 

Nourish  belief  and  fill  faith's  zealous  zone. 

Are  there  such  things  extant?  it  matters  not, 

So  well  we  feign,  when  feigning  is  forgot. 

*  Jupiter,  thought  to  arise  from  the  fusion  of  tribal  cults,  has  at  Argos 
three  eyes,  at  Crete  no  ears ;  at  Caria  he  sits  enthroned,  as  appears  from  their 
coins. 

t  These  were  made  in  walking  attitude ;  one  missing  was  said  to  have 
escaped  from  its  pedestal. 

t  The  oracle  at  Delphi,  closed  by  Theodosius  about  390  A.D. 

§  The  Greeks  held  middle  ground  between  fetishism,  the  cult  of  the 
savage,  and  monotheism,  the  cult  of  the  civilized.  Human  thought,  purely 
speculative  and  fantastic,  is  traced  up  from  fetishism,  spirit  in  everjTthing,  to 

Eolytheism,  spirit  in  many  powers,    to  monotheism,  spirit  in  one  power :  all 
ighly  imaginative,  naive,  and  poetical. 


SPIRIT  LIFE   AND   LORE  l6l 

Now  one  and  then  another  formal  reigns, 
As,  more  or  less,  the  inner  fancy  deigns. 
All  have  their  epochs,  crises  and  decline, 
States  fall,  times  change  from  chaos  into  line ; 
Then  men  the  old  desert,  the  new  discern 
And  faiths,  successive  with  fresh  raptures  learn. 
Thus  Jupiter's  temples  gorgeous,  gave  way, 
When  paganism  was  turning  to  decay, 
And  soon,  the  oracles  to  Julian  told 
The  passing  domination  of  the  old. 

Worship,  when  lost,  emerges  from  the  mist 

Of  things  unknown,  that  need  not  to  exist. 

A  fund  of  fear  and  awe  and  wonder,  blent 

In  admiration,  love  and  worship,  spent, 

Till  divination  cool  and  thoughtful  wit 

Divulge  new  treasures  from  the  infinite. 

Indulge  it  if  we  will,  yet  let  us  know 

Whence,  why  and  wherefore  these  fog-fancies  grow. 

Phantasmagoria  of  most  captive  charm, 

Fair  Fancy's  feint,  well  freighted  with  alarm. 

Nature's  elements,  suns  and  stars  precede, 

Are  deified  in  man's  first  simple  creed, 

Before  the  gods,  swift,  vengeful,  fierce  come  down 

To  greet  poor  human  actors  with  a  frown. 

Things  posited,  believed,  but  never  proved, 

Regenerate,  they  have  man's  spirit  moved. 

As  dreams,  they  dominate  and  searching  span 

The  hidden  realm,  unknown,  that  piques  proud  man. 

Such  is  his  world,  playhouse  of  blocks,  upreared 

To  counterfeit  and  fill  the  darkness  feared. 

Thus  plays  the  grandest  drama  of  the  day 

Which  seems  so  real  when  loth  we  turn  away. 


1 62  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

III. 

Nations  to  nations  lend  their  myths  and  dreams, 

Moulded  by  Nature's  circumstance,  mid  gleams 

Of  light  and  clouds  of  darkness,  Fate  so  soon 

Throws  round  them  here ;    the  stars  and  mystic  moon 

Obscured,  the  sun  eclipsed,  the  desert  storm 

Aroused  despair ;    gave  pessimistic  form 

To  thought ;    chilled  the  temperature  of  hope, 

Which  lowered,  men  in  melancholy  mope. 

Ill-fated  life,  lost  hope  and  fear,  war's  ire 

And  fierce  Sirocco  fed  awed  Fancy's  fire. 

Their  narrow  geographic  limits  lent 

Strange  stimulus  to  dreams ;    by  mountains  pent, 

Dark  forests,  shifting,  sanded  deserts,  drear 

And  limitless,  the  dread  unknown,  so  near. 

Even  Rome's  brave  soldiery  cried  with  fear, 

When  they  came  to  Hercules'  pillars  near ; 

They  would  follow  Caesar  to  earth's  round  end, 

Beyond  dear  earth,  some  counter  march  pretend. 

Romans,  all  vigilance  from  warfares,  reap, 
"The  gods  respect,  but  at  a  distance  keep." 
And  yet  so  large  a  space  for  gods,  they  plan,* 
That  scanty  space  remained  to  offer  man. 
And  what  to  reason  out  and  argue  hence 
They  stoned  those  deities  that  gave  offence. 
We  could  but  smile  that  Caesars  were  adored 
Until  our  gods  alike  are  won  with  sword. 
Some  thank  the  Romans,  some  the  Greeks,  a  few 
With  ardor  leavened,  thank  the  joyless  Jew, 
Whose  lingering,  long  and  modern-faring  fate 
To  live  the  tossed  and  turned  of  every  state. 

*  Petronius. 


SPIRIT   LIFE   AND   LORE  1 63 

Egypt  herself,  so  'tis  said,  lost  some  legions 
Pursuing  Jews  in  the  Cinnamon  regions. 
How  can  world  wait  for  Jew  to  mend  his  lot 
If  worn  out  whimsies  will  not  be  forgot? 
Nor  do  as  Paul  advised  and  Heine  did, 
Who,  while  in  Gaul,  his  German  jewsharp  hid. 
No  other  history  quite  so  well  acquaints 
With  madness  of  perseverance  of  saints. 
Their  plight  as  pressed,  as  in  Egerian  day, 
They  dwelt  "with  basket  and  bundle  of  hay." 

Egypt  stands,  all  pre-eminent  a  tomb, 
Of  far  enshrouding  sands,  deep  in  the  gloom. 
There  joyful  life  once  faced  the  desert  drear, 
That  soon  with  fatal  charms  aroused  its  fear. 
Across  the  Nile,  Egyptians  bore  their  dead 
West  to  the  desert's  edge,  each  sacred  head. 
The  journey,  thus  begun  at  life's  recall, 
They  carried  to  Osiris'  judgment  hall; 
Where  sun-god  nightly  sank  beneath  the  sand- 
Of  the  tenderly  colored  west-windward  land, 
The  ransomed  soul,  pursuing  God,  would  go 
While  empty  body  followed  fate  below. 
Secure,  within  the  sweet-spiced  mummy's  bed, 
They  placed  celestial  chapters  for  the  dead* 
To   reach   Amentif  with   scribed  papyrus   roll, 
The  lofty  litany  of  sage  sacred  scroll ; 
But  when  the  thousand  humbler  people  die, 
Beneath  the  shallow  sea  of  sands  they  lie. 

Earth's  loved  imagery  mingles  in  their  dreams ; 
The  spirit  pure  embarks  and  crosses  streams, 

*  From  the  Book  of  the  Dead  ;  consisting  of  166  chapters  (Mahaffy). 
+  The  Egyptian  Hades. 

8* 


1 64  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Wanders  in  somber,  dark,  o'ershaded  valleys 

And  there,  its  still  sweet,  living  essence,  rallies ; 

Happy  again  within  the  mummy's  fold, 

Life  would  regain  perchance  its  home  of  old, 

When  tuneful  art  and  joy  led  merry  bands, 

Who,  on  their  sculptured  tombs  still  clap  their  hands. 

Who  loved  the  Nile,  the  fan-shaped  lotus  land, 

That  living  loam,  the  delta  and  its  strand, 

From  whose  deep  loins  their  very  bodies  sprung, 

Gardens,  statues,  towers,  they  lived  among; 

Where  boundless  billows  of  the  sanded  sea, 

Back  from  the  shallow,  waving  waters  flee 

And  spread  along  the  many-templed  shore, 

Where  Luxor,  Karnak,  Isis  dwell  no  more; 

Whose  ruined  sepulchres  and  gloomy  mystery 

And  fallen  might  out-record  human  history. 

Who  gave  life's  longing  thought  to  endless  time 
And  sought  beyond  the  earth  more  blessed  clime, 
In  visions,  viewing  that  far  boundless  while, 
And  "more  in  Hades  dwelt  than  on  the  Nile." 
The  pyramid,  like  a  colossal  mound, 
Did  life's  last  royal  love  and  passion  bound ; 
Wonders  forever  these,  of  which,  'tis  said, 
"Time  has  only  the  pyramids  to  dread" ; 
While  all  things  earthly,  more  or  less  sublime, 
Slow  or  fast  decaying  here,  "all  dread  time." 
Where  ancient  Thebes  and  Memphis,  ruined  stand 
And  up  the  Nile,  near  Philae's  temple,  grand 
Galleried  halls  of  sepulchres  in  gloom, 
Surpassing  in  their  wealth  the  modern  tomb, 
Features  present,  to  the  astonished  eye, 
Of  a  life  and  luxury  long  gone  by. 


SPIRIT   LIFE   AND   LORE  165 

Tombs  of  the  lifeless,  soon  the  living  spoil, 
Egypt's  queer,  whimsied,  faithful  mummied  toil, 
Two  thousand  years  preserved,  then  all  awoke; 
Strange  languages  they  heard  around  them  spoke. 
Persians,*    then  Greeks,  then  raiding  Romans  came 
Rifled  the  tombs  and  left  them  but  a  name. 
Egyptians  put  their  mummied  loves  in  pawn; 
The  dead  could  thus  relieve  the  life  forlorn. 
Europe's  museums  now  in  pawn  display 
Creatures  aged  centuries  and  a  day. 
Cleopatra  fair  receives  no  more  oblation 
But  now  displays  herself  in  transmigration. 
There  stands  a  Ramesesf  before  our  eyes, 
Quite  alive  again,  much  to  our  surprise 
And  his,  if  with  three  thousand  years  of  death, 
He  could  be  still  aware  of  drawing  breath. 
With  folded  arms,  senseless  he  looks  on  earth, 
Capacious  still,  these  myriad  years  from  birth; 
Noble  and  famed,  in  all  his  grim  array, 
Wrapped  in  centuries  as  he  stands  to-day. 

Farewell !  Serapis  and  days  when  Memnon  spoke, 

Statue  colossal  the  morn  with  music  woke, 

And  reeded  shores  and  birds  in  bowery  isle 

And  rushes  tall  that  first  saw  Moses  smile. 

Mute  mother-land  of  faith  divine  and  lore 

Of  future  life  that  modern  faiths  adore ; 

Still  shrouded  in  Time's  tireless,  muffled  mystery, 

In  forms  demotic  and  Rosetta  history. 

Storms  fierce  flood  full  the  dark-blue,  watered  Nile, 

Where,  no  more  sunning,  basks  the  crocodile ; 

No  more  o'er  upper  Egypt  Horus  reigns ; 

Set  holds  no  more  the  Delta  and  restrains. 

*  Persian  dominion  from  525  B.C. 

t  In  Cairo  Museum,  Rameses  II,  found  in  1881. 


1 66  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Farewell !  to  palms  and  cliffs,  on  desert's  verge, 
That  parting,  palisade  Nile's  narrow  surge, 
To  where  Sahara's  trackless  barrens  scan 
And  lure,  o'er  warning  wastes,  the  caravan. 
Empires,  old  and  new,  Asia's  shepherd  kings. 
Changes  the  drift  of  later  ages  brings 
When  Thebes  arose  to  grandeur,  more  sublime, 
To  brilliant  bloom  of  that  low  sunset  clime ; 
Nor  needles  lost,  nor  monoliths  the  more, 
Nor  hundred  gates  to  Thebes  shall  time  restore ; 
And  up  the  Nile,  as  dahabeahs  pursue, 
The  vales  of  Nile  have  vanished  in  the  view ! 
The  heart  of  Egypt's  lifeless  lute  is  broke, 
With  harp  that  once  Egyptian  fingers  woke : 
No  joys,  no  tuneful  glees  in  festive  hall, 
No  echoes  murmur  at  the  shepherd's  call ! 

IV. 

In  Grecian  grief,  the  paean  rung,  then  fire 

Inflamed  the  night  and  zephyrs  fanned  the  pyre 

That  sluggish  burned,  till  rising  with  the  dawn 

The  winds  flew  back  o'er  Thracian  sea,  withdrawn — 

So  flamed  the  relay  watchfire  of  the  Greeks 

That  passed  to  Lemnos  from  Mount  Ida's  peaks — 

For  high  the  pyre*  they  built  and  far  around 

They  covered  deep  with  slaughtered  kine  the  ground. 

As  fuel,  sons  of  men  were  slain  to  burn 

With  wine  and  sacrifice  and  oil  in  turn. 

Thus  hours  of  bright  day-night  the  hero  spent 

And  scene  of  wail  and  woe  his  body  lent ; 

When  round  the  ghost,  Achilles  though  restrained 

His  arms  would  fondly  fling — there  it  had  waned! 

*  Iliad  xxiii,  pyre  of  Patroclus. 


SPIRIT  LIFE  AND   LORE  1 67 

Greeks  took  pleasure  brightest  in  living  breath 

And  shunned  the  thought  of  dalliance  with  death. 

The  lower  world  dismissed  unknown,  unseen, 

The  lifeless  wandered  there,  all  shadows  lean, 

In  Hades,  dolefully  to  pass  the  hours 

In  saddened  thoughts  of  life's  past  happy  bowers: 

Shadows  with  shadows  drear  in  shades  to  wander, 

On    loved    joys    lost,    and    gained    miseries    to    ponder. 

There  Tantalus,  in  cooling  water,  stands, 

That  floats  so  near,  then  flies  from  reaching  hands ; 

With  sinews  none  and  none  with  body  seems, 

All  from  each  other  fly  away  like  dreams  : 

Hades,  Styx  and  Acheron  barred  the  way 

To  shadows,  seeking  for  life's  happy  day. 

There  prison  pent,  so  little  pastime  yields, 
They  laugh  at  Becker*  in  the  Elysian  Fields. 
Elysian  Fields  and  Islands  of  the  Blest 
Expressed  their  more  expanding  hopes  of  rest 
When  conflicts  past,  they  found  beneath  the  sods 
The  sweet,  "eternal  leisure  of  the  gods." 
O'er  Plato's  grave,  the  eagle's  wing  outstretched, 
O'er  Sophocles,  siren  in  stone  was  etched. 
Upon  their  tombs  with  wondrous  gentle  grace, 
The  scenes  of  daily  life  and  toil,  they  trace; 
Physicians  with  the  badges  of  their  art, 
Farewells  and  taking  leave  picture  a  part ; 
Charon  and  his  boat,  triumphs  and  the  chase, 
Arms,  ornaments  and  amphora  they  place. 
And  when  from  body  soul  took  final  flight, 
They  prayed  the  earth  might  rest  upon  it  light, 
"Hard  by  the  rolling  thunder  of  the  sea," 
Where  dwelt  life's  sweet  Aegean  mystery. 

*  So  thinks  Bodley,  an  Oxford  scholar.     Becker,  the  author  of  Charicles 
and  Gallus,  describing  Greek  and  Roman  life. 


1 68  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

The  Romans  brave,  around  the  dying  stood, 
The  parting  breath,  inhaling  as  they  could, 
And  when  pale  Death,  at  last  reluctant,  spy 
Vale  !  vale  !  farewell !  farewell !  they  cry. 
Along  the  river-banks  of  endless  woe, 
To  sands  of  Acheron  their  shadows  go, 
Crossing,  forgetful,  that  Lethean  stream 
Whose  wizard  waters  made  earth's  life,  a  dream. 

The  Romans  made  true  tragical  displays 

Around  the  dead  with  many  rare  relays 

And  pomp  of  mourners,  their  dirges  singing, 

Mimics  and  dancers  more  graces  bringing, 

Images  ancestral,  leading  first  the  way, 

Gladiators  then  making  more  sad  the  day. 

And  there  in  marshaled  ranks  about  the  bier 

They  fed  the  flames  with  love  and  flowing  tear. 

The  ashes  then,  in  sepulchre,  they  lay 

On  the  grand  Appian  or  Flaminian  Way, 

Where  passing  life  dispelled  or  veiled  the  gloom 

That  in  drear  loneliness  surrounds  the  tomb 

And  siste  viator!    here  traveler  stand, 

Arrested   attention   with   its   command. 

Now  desolate  wends  the  Appian  Way, 

Still  bearing  emblems  of  its  prouder  day, 

When  far  along  the  low  campagna  plain 

The  dead,  entombed  upon  it,  lived  again, 

In  sculptured  monuments,  majestic  high 

Whose  art  concealed  or  would  console  the  sigh. 

And  they,  when  life  passed  jocund  to  its  play, 

x\lthough  entombed,  were  partners  in  decay. 

Here  fashions  viewed  and  vied,  as  idlers  strolled, 

War's  chariots  swift  went  forth  or  homeward  rolled, 

Far  southward  way-stones  led  the  tallied  mile, 

Where  Egypt,  Greece  and  eastern  empires  smile. 


SPIRIT   LIFE   AND   LORE  l6g 

Norsemen  sent  lifeless  viking  with  the  tide 
O'er  'wide-wayed'  seas  on  billows  to  abide ; 
Firing  the  ship  that  bore  him  o'er  the  wave, 
From  visible  to  void,  invisible  grave. 
Only  the  choicest  and  the  noblest  souls 
Were  paid  the  honors  of  immortal  roles. 
Early  as  the  dawn,  fire  freed  forms  of  life 
With  trinkets,  baubles,  gauds  and  living  wife ; 
Mingled  with  all  he  loved,  in  wondrous  shrouds, 
The  hero's  soul  went  'curling  to  the  clouds.' 

In  medieval  age,  tumults  were  rife 

And  man  'the  slave  of  Death'  was  called  in  life. 

Artists  make  this  the  subject  of  display; 

Holbein  made  -'the  Terror'   dance  life  away, 

In  sketches  strange,  skeletoned  to  amuse, 

The  scythe  and  hour-glass  serve  in  varied  views. 

Kaulbach  draws  painfully  the  fabled  fight 

Of  ghosts  of  Huns  and  Romans  in  the  night; 

Strife  of  Attila  and  his  swarthy  Hun 

With  Theodoric's  dread  Visigoths,  begun: 

When  the  battle's  fierce  phrenzied  rout  had  ended, 

The  warriors  slain  then  roused  them  and  contended 

In  the  enshrouding  darkness  of  the  air 

And  strove  the  day's  foul  fortunes  to  repair ; 

There,  clear  above  the  fatal  field  retreating, 

Valorous  deeds,  still  more  in  death,  repeating. 

So  sanguinary  furies  of  the  battled  day 

Forced  to  strife  the  spent  passions  of  decay. 

Endless  is  myth :    Fancy  herself  displays 
And  adds  to  the  darkness  of  elder  days — 
Valleys  and  shadows,  rivers  like  the  Styx, 
Hunting  grounds,  Paradise — and  Valhallas  mix 


I70  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Their  sweeter  dreams — vagaries  of  all  kinds 
Strive  to  relieve  and  pacify  all  minds 
And  souls  go  seeking  for  some  deathless  land, 
Beyond  the  sinking  shores  of  shifting  sand. 
Undaunted  thus,  life's  generations  range 
Speeding  from  birth  to  death  with  ceaseless  change ; 
Each  breath  contributing  one  mortal  more, 
Hopeful  to  extend  an  immortal  score. 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY :  PART  IV. 


172  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 


WORD  INDEX:   Part  IV. 

The  last  adieu :    Hearts  bowed  down : 

Through  household  aisles:   Wend  their  chastened  way 

In  friendly  links  :    Sorrow's  waters : 

At  plaintive  eve :    Life's  last  soreness : 

Tullia's  touch :    The  minor  harmony : 

Learning  not  to  be :    Anodynes  to  youth : 

Tenants  of  our  tears :    Sorrow's  younger  sister : 

Mysteries  allianced  :    Secret  of  outward  grace : 

Give  gentle  greeting:    Let  thoughts  enliven: 

Fair  tranquil  climate:    Cool   courageous   calm: 

Queries  revolve  :    Memories  bloom :    Daring  dreams : 

This  precious  phantom :    Immortal  in  the  race : 

Legends  of  Brittany:    Ill-fated,  fancied  Is: 

Our  hidden  city,  lost  like  this. 


WESTSIDE   OBSEQUIES  173 


INTRODUCTORY  ELEGY:  PART  IV. 

Westside  Obsequies  : 

I. 

Where  parting  comes  all  joys  together  meet — 
With  sympathy  and  love  and  sadly  greet 
Life's  finished  farings.  all  sweet  thoughts  renew, 
These  give  their  pathos  to  the  last  adieu. 
Here  have  we  seen  loved  life  disrupt  its  bond 
And  pass  from  day  into  the  bourne  beyond. 
Here  have  we  kept  night-vigil  with  the  dead 
Prone,  motionless  and  still,  as  slow  hours  fled. 
Affrighting  comrade,  weird  and  grim  and  cold, 
Restored  to  earth's  enshrouding  mantling  mould. 
Here  we  have  borne,  but  loth  along  the  way, 
The  truant  treasure,  destined  to  decay. 

It  brings  a  melting  mood  to  view  a  scene 

Of  westside  obsequies :    the  saddened  mien 

Of  hearts,  bowed  down  beside  the  darkened  bier 

Alone,  the  awed  suspense,  the  telling  tear, 

The  gathered  group  who,  mindful  of  past  grief, 

Give  now,  to  other's  sorrow,  their  relief. 

Thought  faints  away  in  mind  and  hopeless  heart 

When  heedless  here,  forever  friends  depart 

And  life,  as  if  reverent  of  its  ends, 

Its  joy  and  animation  full  suspends. 

Sound  is  silenced  or  tuned  to  minor  tone, 

Speech  falters  then,  in  lower  notes,  alone; 

The  house  door's  creak,  a  bird's  bewailing  call, 

And  there  a  shrouding  shadow  on  the  wall, 

All  join  to  stifle  joyous,  happy  sense 


174  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

For  life  has  come  to  its  last  recompense. 
O'er  all  things  sorrow  broods  and  on  them  all 
Despair,  regret  and  grief,  in  reverie,  fall. 

The  pastor's  voice,  firm,  friendly,  calm  and  kind, 
Brings  ancient  lore  of  sore  sad  days  to  mind, 
In  words  so  welcome,  borne  from  ancient  woe, 
Now  read  anew,  though  uttered  long  ago ; 
Words  tender,  true  and  touching  in  their  passion, 
That  show  flesh  changes  not  its  fevered  fashion. 
The  aids  of  prayer,  in  full  and  calm  devotion, 
Then  ease  the  tenser  strain  of  deep  emotion. 
Faith  struggles  present  anguish  to  make  less 
With  visions  faint  of  far-off  happiness. 

A  hallowed  hymn  then  moves  the  mournful  air 

With  lamentation  deep  or  plaintive  prayer; 

In  tuneful  tones  of  thoughts  and  notes,  so  sweet, 

The  ear  and  heavy  heart,  they  gently  greet. 

They  rise  and  move  in  slow  and  waiting  files 

With  sad  faint  courage  through  the  household  aisles ; 

With  hushed  and  reverent  awe  and  bending  head 

And  grouped  around,  they  look  upon  the  dead. 

Reluctant  then  and  heeding  none  to  greet, 

They  wend  their  chastened  way  along  the  street. 

The  line  in  friendly  links  of  love  moves  slow, 

As  in  no  haste  to  lay  its  burden  low. 

The  bell  strikes  in  with  solemn  sounding  peal, 

What  depths  of  welling  woe  those  tones  reveal ! 

Across  the  stream  and  sadly  up  the  hill 

The  cortege  veiled  with  heavy  foot  and  will 

Creeps  on,  seeking  the  kindred  in  earth's  crust, 

Where  now  one  more  may  mingle  with  the  dust. 

Around  the  hallowed  spot,  in  concourse  blent, 

The  choristers  pour  bravely  forth  lament 


WESTSIDE  OBSEQUIES  175 

And  give  in  some  outbursting  cry  of  song 
Their  deep  expression  to  life's  sorest  wrong. 
And  while  the  living  parting,  silent  weep, 
The  lifeless  low  are  chanted  to  their  sleep. 

'Sigh  not,  ye  winds,  as  passing  o'er 
The  chambers  of  the  dead,  ye  fly. 
Weep  not  ye  dews,  for  these  no  more 
Shall  ever  weep,  shall  ever  sigh. 
Why  mourn  the   throbbing  heart   at   rest? 
How  still  it  lies  within  the  breast ! 
Why  mourn  when  Death  presents  us  peace 
And  in  the  grave  our  sorrows  cease?" 

t 
As  when  sweet  tears,  to  sorrow's  waters  pent, 
Give  their  relieving  solace  and  their  vent, 
Its  touching  pathos,  soothing  to  the  ear, 
Consoles  the  heart  and  brings  a  comfort  near, 
And  borne  along  the  low,  meandering  main, 
It  wakens  tones  of  sympathy  again. 
The  cradled  tide  ebbs  out  with  lessened  zest 
As  with  the  sun  a  body  sinks  to  rest 
And  from  the  west  at  plaintive  eve  sounds  shrill 
The  requiem  of  the  wailing  whippo-will. 
The  sense  of  parting  still  returns  with  power, 
When  closing  day  brings  in  the  evening  hour 
And  forms  the  circle  that  will  never  more 
Receive  the  lost  way-wanderer  as  before. 
Then  bravely  life  resumes  a  living  tone 
Around  the  hearth,  more  silent  and  alone, 
While  other  homes,  in  happiness  grouped  near, 
Send  tender  tides  of  sympathy  sincere 
And  consolation,  calm  would  bear  away 
The  bosom's  burden  of  sad  sorrow's  day. 


176  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

II. 

Still  life's  last  soreness  ever  comes  the  same 
And  differs  not  in  essence  if  in  name. 
Cicero  grieved  for  Tullia's  touch  in  ways 
Like  David  over  Absalom's  short  days ; 
Betook  himself  to  shadows,  dark  and  drear, 
Wandered  in  woods,  and  there  the  troubled  tear 
In  solitude  found  no  resigned  relief 
But  left  him  still  more  shadowed  by  his  grief. 

If  then  the  shock,  surprise  and  pain  of  parting 
Make  one  dread  Death,  his  fatal  arrows  darting, 
Treat  normal  Nature  yet  with  due  respect 
And  suffer  then  what  she  cannot  correct. 
For,  sadder  far  to  lose  the  feeling  sense 
And  have  in  sorrow  no  intelligence. 
For  who  would  crave  a  life  no  tears  bedew, 
Nor  bravely  bear  the  lot,  all  others  knew, 
Nor  chastened  feel  within  the  plaintive  power, 
That  comes  alone  in  sorrow's  sacred  hour? 

Of  love  and  friendship,  painful  is  the  price. 

Beware  of  them  if  joy  does  not  suffice. 

The  narrow  circle  more  confines  the  grief, 

But  larger  boundaries  give  rich  relief ; 

For  they  who  journey  stoic,  lone  along, 

May  discord  dire  with  greater  force  prolong, 

As  chords  that  singly  sound  rough  tones  apart, 

When  nearing,  'tremble  to  the  tuner's  art' 

If  sadness  stirs  the  deep  low  pulse  of  pain, 

Joy  knows  the  scale  where  happy  hopes  remain ; 

There,  touched  in  unison,  mournful  with  sweet, 

They  make  the  minor  harmony  complete. 

If  mumming  mirth  and  gushing  glee  were  all, 


WESTSIDE   OBSEQUIES  177 

E'en  mirth  and  pleasure  peevish  soon  would  pall. 
So  life  to  all,  veiled,  varied  and  diverse, 
Doth  joys  and  griefs,  the  same  to  all,  rehearse; 
If  soon  resigned  and  reft,  it  reappears 
And  passes  on  in  other  younger  years, 
To  live  again,  to  traverse  old  worn  ways 
And  coaches  on  apace  with   swift  relays ; 
Thus  forward  moves  upon  its  counter  course, 
Like  restless  river,  speeding  from  its  source, 
That  quick  departs  and  flooding  to  the  main, 
O'erleaps  itself,  flies,  floats  and  falls  again. 

Whether  to  be  content  and  have  no  quest 
Or  not  to  be  resigned  entire  is  best. 
If  aught  makes  happiness  an  afterthought, 
The  quest  of  fortune  its  own  pleasure  brought. 
If  grief  like  gladness  dwelt  in  future  tense, 
And  rare  recurring,  lessened  our  suspense, 
Then  misery  right  rare  and  far  should  be 
And  life,  from  terror's  thrills,  find  shore  to  lee. 
But  few  will  stand  beside  the  narrow  clay 
And  let  mute  memories  resurrect  the  day, 
When  life  thought  not  of  doom  of  mortal  state, 
Of  learning  not  to  be,  the  future  fate; 
Nor  dreamed  of  spirit  sore  and  burdened  breast 
And  moods  that  must  be  felt  to  be  expressed, 
When  feeling  fainted  not  at  thrilling  truth 
Since  Fortune  gives  all  anodynes  to  youth. 

Abundant,  falling  tears  bring  rue  relief 
To  soften  sorrow  and  assuage  our  grief, 
For  sleepless  sorrow,  gushing  grief  and  fears 
And  poignant  pains  are  tenants  of  our  tears. 
Deep  mysteries,  allianced  here,  are  we, 


178  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

Fair  pleasure,  pain  and  smart  in  us  agree. 
Where'er  we  wander  and  evasive  roam, 
They  mingling  find  in  us  a  common  home ; 
For  joy  is  'sorrow's  younger  sister'  sweet, 
Relieved  of  cares  that,  in'the  elder,  meet. 

If  years  long  lost,  now  presently  reversing, 
We  conjure  with  the  past  and  brief  rehearsing 
The  loved  record  memory  holds  in  store, 
Thus  we  may  view  those  we  shall  see  no  more. 
Let  us  recall  the  feature,  form  and  face, 
The  inner  source,  secret  of  outward  grace 
And  give  another  breath  of  joyful  life, 
Ere  we  ourselves  shall  cease  the  happy  strife, 
To  some,  though  few  in  all  the  number  near, 
Of  those  below,  who  silent  slumber  here, 
Who,  once  a  part  of  our  own  daily  joy, 
Must  evermore  our   fondest  thought  employ. 

III. 

Fair,  'shining  visitants,'  in  endless  trance, 

Who  have  coursed  through  and  rounded  life's  romance 

And  here  have  come,  from  its  fatiguing  quest 

"And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to   rest" ; 

Who  sanctify  this  mound  with  precious  blood 

That  we  have  watered  with  a  gushing  flood, 

For  whom  with  tears,  lament  and  tolling  bell, 

We  mourned  and  cried  a  long  and  last  farewell ; 

Whose  resting  places,  guarding  Nature's  wreck, 

Fond  loving  memories  and  garlands  deck 

And  give  to  the  embosomed,  lifeless  dearth 

The  dearest  token  and  sanctity  of  earth : 

Where  ivy  green  with  wreaths  and  sheaves  are  thrown 

And  grief  with  faithful  footsteps  comes  alone. 


WESTSIDE    OBSEQUIES  179 

For,  when  the  sun  is  red,  these  aisles  we  tread 
And  give  a  gentle  greeting  to  the  dead 
And  let  our  thoughts  enliven  them,  who  rest 
In  our  warm  wounded  love,  forever  blest; 
Then  view  the  emblems  of  life's  final  dower 
And  calmly  learn  the  lesson  of  the  hour, 
When  heedless  here,  in  turn  and  all  obscure 
Neglect,  with  rare  respect,  we  shall  endure. 
No  more  life's  sunshine,  nor  its  fretting  storm ; 
No  more  sweet  harmony  give  pleasure,  form ; 
No  more  victorious  labor  and  repose 
Mingle  earth's  fickle  sweets  and  joys  and  woes; 
No  more  this  fairy  glorious,  loved  realm 
The  sense  and  fervent  fancy  overwhelm. 

And  will  these  daring  dreams  turn  ever  true 
These  dreams  our  aspirations,   firm   renew, 
That  this  so  precious  phantom  we  call   'soul,' 
Has  still  some  future,  final,  endless  goal; 
When  the  melancholy  of  death's  dull  trance 
Shall  end  and  waken  to  a  new  romance 
And  when  anon,  in  some  more  varied  sphere, 
We  shall  resume  what  is  abandoned  here? 
Will  fuller  increments  of  joy's  increase 
A  sweet  and  fond  contentment  then  release 
And  earth's  fair  self,  with  far  more  bounties  blest, 
Become  the  haven  here  of  heavenly  rest? 
Will  some  fair  tranquil  climate  of  the  mind 
Disease  dispel,  make  man  to  self  resigned? 
Will  Stoic  tempered,  cool  courageous  calm 
Invade  life's  realm  and  banish  its  alarm? 
These  anxious  queries  with  their  shadowed  scope 
Give  pathos  infinite  to  human  hope, 
However  surely  they  bespeak  despair 


l8o  INTRODUCTORY   ELEGY 

That  lies  deep  hidden  underneath  life's  care; 

Queries  that  now,  in  innocence  revolve, 

Futurity  of  time  may  slowly  solve, 

The  while  men  live,  immortal  in  the  race 

Though  man  himself  receives  short  shift  in  space. 

In  others  then,  in  like  or  varied  sphere, 

We  may  resume  what  is  abandoned  here, 

When  soon  with  kindred  ones,  we  shall  abide 

Where  murmuring  waters  flow  past  riverside; 

'Neath  laurel  wreath,  beside  the  fir-tree's  gloom, 

Where  treasures  lie  and  mellow  memories  bloom, 

In  mother  earth  with  sacred  mother  dust, 

Midst  elements  of  swift  decay  and  rust, 

Where  storm  and  blast  may  work  their  hidden  harm 

But  all  unheeded  there,  cause  no  alarm. 

Legends  lorn,  of  sea-girt  Brittany,  tell 

How  once  an  ancient,  lofty  city  fell 

Through  deep  down  heaving  of  the  whirling  wave 

And  sunk  beneath  into  an  ocean  grave. 

From  time  to  time,  a  tomb  or  templed  shrine 

And  old  foundations  through  the  waters  shine, 

When  surging  low,  the  ruffled  hollow  sea 

Discloses  shapes  of  walls  below  the  lea. 

Then  oft  its  pinnacles  and  towers  arise 

And  pierce  the  parting  waters  with  surprise. 

And  many  a  bell,  emerging,  swings  and  tolls 

The  requiem  for  its  sea-buried  souls ; 

Till  surges  turn  again  with  forward  strike 

And  backward  rolls  the  bay  within  the  dike. 

We  too,  like  some  ill-fated,  fancied  Is, 
Have  our  own  hidden  city,  lost  like  this, 


WESTSIDE  OBSEQUIES  l8l 

And  on  the  common,  where  we  careless  stray, 
Are  the  narrow  houses  of  an  elder  day; 
There  now  unknown  within  the  quiet  keep 
Unnamed  forefathers  of  our  hamlets  sleep; 
There,  constant  round  them,  pinnacles  and  spires, 
Peering  through  summer  shades,  mark  altar  fires 
And  billows,  yonder  dashing,  beat  the  shore 
Where  wanton  winds  in  waves  engulf  men  o'er. 
Here  forever,  may  mortals  come  and  go, 
As  swift  time  bears  them  on  its  forward  flow; 
May  bells,  that  o'er  them  wake  the  sacred  lay, 
Swing  echoes,  ringing  to  that  distant  day ! 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  WESTS1DE. 
Part  V. :    Allen — Fisher. 


REV.    A.    C.    BALDWIN. 


WESTSIDE  183 

EDEN  PHILLIPS  ALLEN. 
August  20,   1800 — November  25,  1869. 
He  played  a  character  in  life's  romance 
And  went  with  England's  embassy  to  France 
In  days,  when  Louis  XVIII  royal  ruled; 
To  many  languages,  his  tongue  was  schooled. 
Beguiling  Fortune  lured  him  to  our  shores 
With  French  and  continental  lingual  lores, 
Which,  speechful  he  diffused  and  taught  the  ton 
To  express  themselves  in  more  ways  than  one. 
As  time  rolled  on,  the  certainties  of  chance 
Next  brought  him  here  to  finish  his  romance. 
Some,  puzzled  by  his  variance  of  speech, 
Would  tutor  him  in  turn  and  English  teach ; 
So  had  he  wandered  from  and  lost  his  clan 
And  lost  the  tokens  of  an  Englishman. 
These  made  him  French,  others  made  him  Spanish ; 
Till  he  soon  followed  after  years  that  vanish, 
Passed  on  with  his  gentle  spirit  and  stored  mind, 
His  cottage  home  and  attic,  left  behind, 
Well  stocked  with  polyglot  and  bookish  lore, 
Of  which  more  story,  but  we  tell  no  more. 

REVEREND    ABRAM    CHITTENDEN    BALDWIN* 

April  26,  1804 — July  6,  1887. 

His  noble  port  and  reverend  manly  mien, 
No  intervening  years  nor  change  can  screen 
From  view ;   we  see  the  very  gracious  gravity, 
The  fair  and  clever  ministerial  suavity, 
As  late,  they  journeyed  with  him  to  and  fro. 
Much  more  than  theology  did  he  know, 
This  active  brainy  man  for  order  made 

*  Burial  in  Hartford. 


1 84  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

And  function,  full  executive  in  grade. 

Of  model  excellent,  superb  and  grand, 

He  was  well  fitted  to  give  cool  command. 

The  Griffing  Institute,  he  fathered  first 

And  cheered  its  building,  when  a  droughty  thirst 

For  letters  took  the  cautious  town  by  storm ; 

Then  further,  he  was  active  for  reform. 

His  very  English  essay  took  the  prize, 

Quite  scholarlike ;    sad  slavery  gave  it  rise. 

Further  history,  as  in  some  pastorate, 

A  shepherd,  here  and  there,  we  might  narrate. 

From  our  near  northern  highland  hills,  he  came 

And  added  lustre  to  a  lustrous  name. 

MINER  BRADLEY. 

March  19,  1779 — August  26,  1862. 

Slow  to  and  fro,  he  makes  his  promenade 

Beneath  his  ample,  roofy,  pillared  shade; 

The  oldtime  landlord,  bluff,  stout,  hearty  host; 

Who  saw  the  early  stage,  primeval  post, 

When  horses  four,  proud,  prancing  and  high-hoofed, 

The  village  roused  and  shook  the  houses  roofed. 

Boys  ran  behind  and  half  the  town  held  on 

In  wizard  ways,  but  rode  inside  anon, 

On  some  trumped  errand,  out  of  town  a-wandering, 

All  planned  with  days  of  deep  elective  pondering; 

Quite  foreordained  and  doctrinal,  all  this, 

Things  planned  prove  cause  unless  they  go  amiss. 

Of  mighty  build,   large  understanding  had 
Or  shoes,  so  called  by  those  who  make  a  fad 
Of  terms,  particular;    but  still  he  walked 
And  of  himself  oft  laughed  and  bluffly  talked; 


MISS    CAROLINE    BRADLEY 


WESTSIDE  185 

"My  feelings  now,  with  youth,  do  ill  agree; 
Old  age  or    'something'    has  got  hold  of  me. 
The  noble  elders  here,  and  village  wits 
Once  sat  around  and  chaffed  with  happy  hits; 
The  lawyer  and  the  poet  and  the  major, 
The  'squire,  the  merchant  and  the  passing  stager. 
Now,  all  but  strangers  f rorn  my  gates  are  gone ; 
I  to  myself  am  left  to  look  upon." 

This  sight  alone,  we  younglings  all  enjoyed, 
Nor  thought  it  sad  but  pleasure  unalloyed. 
The  ripeness  of  old  times,  in  him  displayed, 
Our  curious  wonderment,  so  much  allayed. 
That  chatting  group,  that  pillared  colonnade, 
Out  of  sweet  life  have  made  their  escapade ; 
The  host  himself  at  last  has  followed  on 
And  overtaken  those  he  smiled  upon. 

MISS  CAROLINE  BRADLEY. 
March  8,  1804 — October  12,  1876. 

MISS  HARRIET  BRADLEY. 

August  27,   1807 — September  9,   1878. 

These  sisters  two  had  each  her  own  fair  glory 
And  grace  genteel,  as  in  much  fancied  story. 
We  saw  them,  passing  fair  down  life's  decline, 
Hand  in  hand;    so  shall  they  be  joined  in  mine. 
They  made  sweet  home  attract,  in  woman's  ways, 
The  wayworn  traveler,  in  his  coaching  days ; 
They  lent  a  hand  to  things  as  they  were  going, 
What  things  now  are  rather  past  our  knowing; 
Quilting  was  one  and  green  tea  drinking  one 
And  prayerful  thoughts  for  heathen  had  begun. 
In  forty  other  ways  their  days  went  whirling 


1 86  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

And  they  grew  into  features,  we  call  sterling. 
They  heard  long,  loud  disputes  on  orthodoxy 
And  slavery  and  suffrage,  but  voted  proxy; 
When  up  the  centre  aisle  to  church  they  came, 
Serene  and  stately,  shawled  and  tall,  either  dame 
Benign ;    the  one,  curled,  fair  with  noble  mien, 
The  other  quite  as  gentle  could  be  seen ; 
A   fairer,  statelier  and  more  gracious  pair 
Would  not  then  be  found,  blooming  in  our  air. 

DOCTOR  JOEL  CANFIELD. 

March  io,  1801 — April  9,  1877. 

Benignant  and  composed  and  costumed  black, 
In  summer  cool  in  an  alpaca  sack, 
Gloved  like  a  knight,  all  tidy  and  genteel, 
These  symptoms  clear  the  doctor  should  reveal. 
Young  and  old,  into  life  and  out,  he  eased 
And  mended  up  the  ailing  and  diseased, 
But  sent  for  Sweet,  if  broken  bones  were  bad. 
A  gracious  winsome  way,  this  doctor  had; 
When  on  the  road,  his  coat  unbuttoned  flew 
And  bland  he  spoke  to  every  one  he  knew; 
First,  asking  in  his  line,  if  all  were  well? 
Then  what  about  the  weather  could  they  tell 
Or  did  they  know  a  single  thing  called  new? 
Now,  all  this  time,  we  quite  too  healthy  grew 
To  call  him  in  and  let  him  have  our  case, 
Who  had,  for  generations,  healed  our  race. 
About  to  leave  the  world,  he  had  the  care 
Aside  to  lay  some  money,*  always  rare, 
For  man  and  hoe  to  keep  a  watch  and  ward 
And  kindly  treat  and  guard  this  sainted  sward. 

*  $500  bequest  to  Westside  Cemetery  Association. 


DR.    JOEL   CANFIELD. 


WESTSIDE  187 

MRS.  LUCRETIA   MARILLA  CANFIELD. 

February  22,  1802 — May  26,  1876. 

We  thought  her  dainty,  womanly,  discreet, 

In  whom  the  very  best  of  virtues  meet. 

And  tall  enough  withal  and  with  an  air 

Of  worth,  refinement  and  complexion  fair ; 

Eyes  dark  and  hair,  as  slenderly  she  stood, 

A  pleasing  picture  of  wed  womanhood. 

And  when  arrayed  in  choice  silk,  flared  in  train, 

She  looked,  for  all  the  world,  like  porcelain. 

They  were  a  rare  and  comely  pair  indeed, 

She  and  the  doctor,  whom  she  never  feed, 

When  he  came  in  from  Clapboard  hill,  but  fed, 

As  hungry  as  the  patient  he  had  bled. 

Out  of  our  northern  hills,  full  forested, 

She  came,  consenting  where  the  doctor  led. 

So  fared  they  on  through  life,  a  gracious  pair, 

Till  eyes  grew  dim  and  silver  gray  the  hair. 

Then  often,  he  would  gently  walk  around 

And  speak  above  to  her,  beneath  the  ground, 

And  sweeter  words,  than  living  tongues  may  say, 

She  whispered  back  to  him,  as  there  she  lay. 

MRS.  EUNICE  FOWLER  CHITTENDEN. 

February  9,  1793 — October  17,  1890. 

In  youth,  she  learned  and  listened  to  the  lyre 
And  added  concord  to  the  sacred  choir; 
Then  charmed  the  circle  with  her  telling  tales 
And  cheered  the  company  where  mirth  prevails. 
She  was  a  valiant  soul,  nor  feared  a  ghost, 
With  wit  to  hold  her  own  against  a  host. 
Her   living  portrait,   in    the   window    framed, 
Looked  on  us,  in  passing,  and  well  proclaimed 

9* 


1 88  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Her  hold  on  life  and  showed  her  visage  strong 
And  full  intention,  resolute  to  prolong 
Her  days  and  see  one  hundred  years  extend 
Or,  like  the  nineteenth  century,  soon  end. 
Life's  finished  purpose  there  incarnate  sat 
And  the  marked  features,  all  did  preface  that. 
Eli's   daughter — and   well   did  she  agree 
With  her  inheritance   from  the  family  tree 
And  showed  the  General,  in  common  life, 
In  march  and  countermarch,  as  busy  wife. 
And  when  earth's  joys  and  sorrows  all  were  done, 
Four  generations  took  their  life  from  one. 

MRS.   ELSIE   REEVE   CHITTENDEN. 

April  24,  1784 — February  26,  1885. 

Behold  a  character  so  naive  and  pure, 
To  full  one  hundred  }-ears  she  did  endure; 
With  days  to  spare  to  start  a  second  score, 
Alas !    for  presently  she  was  no  more. 
She  lived  upon  the  hill,  the  house  was  red ; 
Her  clothes  she  hung  to  dry,  her  chickens  fed. 
The  shining  village  in  the  distance  saw 
Nor  entered  it;    here  was  her  life  and  law. 
Her  tastes  were  simple,  all  her  wants  were  few. 
For  thirst,  cold  water  drank  and  bucket  drew ; 
Then  longed  to  sneeze  and  needed  measures  took 
Of  snuff;    the  Bible  was  her  only  book. 
Beside  the  table,  where  that  treasure  lay, 
She  daily  knelt,  at  evening  hour,  to  pray. 
The  close-capped,  spectacled  and  wrinkled  face, 
To  look  content  and  happy,  had  rare  grace. 
So  calm  and  unperturbed  and  without  passion, 
Her  frock,  nor  frilled  nor  flouncing  out  to  fashion, 
So  loth  to  pledge,  but  prone  to  please  and  quaint, 
For  full  a  century,  she  was  a  saint. 


MRS.    EUNICE   F.    CHITTENDEN. 


WESTSIDE  189 

FREDERICK  CRUTTENDEN. 

August  7,  1795 — April  8,  1865. 

Surviving,  like  some  presence  with  us  still, 

He  moves  before  us  as  the  living  will, 

Who,  in  our  visions,  seems  to  come  alone, 

Who  has  lain  long  beneath  the  sod  and  stone. 

The  eye  of  day  led  him  to  early  cares, 

The  eyes  of  night  shone  as  he  homeward  fares : 

Fruitful  and  green  he  made  the  earthy  loam 

And  tardy  brought  the  teeming  harvest  home. 

Here,  joyous  life  in  youthful  spirits  grew 

And  gathered  round  the  hearth,  in  forms  he  knew ; 

Then  guiding,  faithful,  watchful  and  aware, 

He  must  be  and  as  patient  to  forbear. 

His  placid  countenance  and  ready  mind, 

Of  gentle  impulse  tell,  and  temper  kind. 

Emotion  ruled  his  life  and  ruled  it  well, 

For  in  him  gentleness  and  love  did  dwell. 

The  homestead  stands,  bedecked  and  bowered  fair, 

But  he,  who  in  his  days  of  duty  there, 

Filled  it  witl^  happy  life  and  love,  no  more 

Wardens  the  lean-to  roof  and  double  door. 

MRS.  MARY  GRISWOLD  CRUTTENDEN. 

September  23,  1803 — August  25,  1882. 

There,  in  the  rocker  sitting,  she  looked  sage 
Unruffled  and  serene  in  her  sweet  age ; 
The  white  lace  cap,  encircling  round  the  face, 
Enclosing  so  its  own  fair-featured  grace, 
A  full  containing  face  with  outlines  clear, 
Expressive  of  calm  happiness  and  cheer; 
The  form  entire,  well  moulded  and  complete, 
Nor  tall  nor  short,  but  medium  to  greet ; 
The  voice,  full  clear,  in  modulated  flow, 


I90  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

In  rising  tones  and  cadence  falling  low. 
Converser  fair  with  queries  ready  first 
To  put  and  draw  us  out  if  so  athirst 
For  conversation  in  its  chance  exchange, 
On  hazard  happenings  within  our  range. 
She  was,  in  life's  decline,  the  remnant  fair 
Of  character  strong  and  decision  rare; 
Outspoken,  frank,  nor  sparing  of  herself, 
Nor  did  she  wait  to  be  laid  upon  the  shelf  ; 
But  ending  well  her  days,  so  well  begun, 
She  saw  last  settings  of  the  summer  sun. 

DEACON  JULIUS  ALBERT  DOWD. 

August  22,  1806 — January  16,  1898. 

He  filled  in  life  a  useful,  honored  place, 

Who  has  now  come  to  this  pent,  narrow  space. 

For  years,  God's  stubborn  stony  glebe  subdued, 

Sowed,  reaped,  harvested  and  the  earth  renewed. 

While,  serving  self  as  a  tillman  of  the  acre, 

He  tilled  warm  aspirations  for  the  Maker; 

To  His  high  courts,  he  loyally  repaired 

And  there  his  awed  allegiance  declared, 

There  raised  his  voice  in  exhortation  wise, 

There  Christian  influence    did  well  devise; 

Discharged  the  functions  of  that  holy  place, 

Unceasing  worked  to  moralize  the  race. 

He  had  the  gift  of  thinking  on  his  feet, 

This  sent  him  up  to  where  the  wise  men  meet. 

He  had  an  air  of  silent  inward  pondering; 

Certain  observers  thought  his  mind  went  wandering, 

When  seemingly  engaged  in  commonplace, 

As  walking,  breakfasting  and  saying  grace. 

He  was  then  doubtless  thinking  of  his  duty; 

His  mind  and  temper  had  that  golden  beauty. 


WESTSIDE  191 

EDWIN  FLOOK. 

November  16,  1816 — February  24,  1900. 

He  groped  his  lowly  way  upon  the  street, 

Yet  lifted  up  with  kindliness  to  greet; 

Such  almost  pathos  was  there  in  that  greeting, 

One  took  a  way,  especial  for  the  meeting. 

It  is  eclipsed,  that  kindly  human  ray, 

Whose  smiling  lit  the  drearness  of  the  day! 

Unto  the  veiling  vine,  his  skill  he  brings 

And  health  and  courage  gives  the  tenderlings, 

The  budding  flower,  the  luscious  fruit  and  sward, 

And  reputation  was  his  just  reward. 

Then  grew  he  like  the  windings  of  the  vine, 

By  some  deep  hidden  principle,  in  fine ; 

So  like  the  very  grape,  he  had  befriended, 

When  chilling  winds  its  sinews  warped  and  bended. 

But  more  serene  and  sweet  his  nature  strove 

Within,  and  there  his  faith  and  virtues  throve. 

Perchance  the  bindings  of  the  body  stout 

Loosed  finest  elements  of  spirit  out, 

And  when  the  soul,  released  itself,  did  quit, 

Earth,  the  spent  body  took  to  treasure  it. 

ABRAHAM  SCOTT  FOWLER. 

November  25,  1788 — November  6,  1875. 

He  comes,  meandering  thoughtfully  along, 
Guarding  himself  with  wary  eye  'gainst  wrong 
And  rolling  stone;    his  careful,  creeping  pace 
Gives  fair  occasion  now  to  view  the  face, 
.   Its  aspect  mark,  clear,  gentle  and  serene; 
See  what  that  elegance  must  once  have  been, 
That  drew  election  to  'the  Ugly  Club'* 
Of  wits,  all  manly  fine,  unfit  to  rub 

*  A  club  of  handsome  men  of  New  York  City.    Jan.  2,  1815. 


I92  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Against  or  much  be  seen  in  homely  crowds, 
And  lifted  him  and  Halleck  to  the  clouds ! 
Then,  clerk  of  town,  to  legislature  sent; 
Nor  use,  nor  worth,  did  elegance  prevent. 
Our  phrenzied  haste  could  scarce  await  his  pace, 
Nor  stand  to  catch  and  copy  out  his  grace. 
He  tilled  his  uplands  and  stored  full  his  cellar; 
Turned  sunstroke  and  drove  oxen  with  umbrella. 
His  tall  black  hat  and  velvet  collar  match 
The  graces  of  the  form,  we  cannot  catch. 
A  truant  gentleman,  from  the  olden  school, 
By  Master  Johnson  taught,  when  he  held  rule. 

MISS  ANNETTE  BARKER  FOWLER. 

March  19,  1876 — November  7,  1902. 

She  ran  and  chased  the  sunlight  in  and  out, 

Then  on  life's  threshold  stood  and  looked  about 

And,  smiling,  crossed  the  leafy  ways  to-day, 

Nor  thought  to-morrow  an  uncertainty; 

An  artless  winsome  child,  whose  maiden  hair 

Soft,  floated  on  the  breeze,  and  she  was  fair 

And  frank  and  brave  to  breast  the  shock  of  storm, 

When  the  north  wind  blew  fierce  upon  her  form 

And  the  chill  dews  cooled  the  warm  zeal  and  fire 

That,  kindling,  burned  bright  with  life's  desire. 

Then  saw  she  cruel  Fate,  cutting  life  short, 

And  Death  come,  offering  his  grim  escort; 

Nor  ran,  but  stood  to  meet  him  in  the  way, 

This  fair  young  girl,  a  heroine  of  to-day. 

So  quietly  laid  down  the  gift,  we  crave, 

And  walked  alone  with  firmness  to  the  grave. 

No  tourney  knight,  whose  pride  gave  valor  bold, 

No  soldier  stern,  would  stouter  spirit  hold. 

Fair  maiden  of  few  years,  soon  decked  with  flowers, 

Whose  steadfast  simple  courage  strengthens  ours. 


HENRY    FOWLER. 


WESTSIDE  ig3 

GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  FOWLER. 

September  19,  1802 — March  3,  1867. 

His  form,  then  worn  with  toil  and  bowed  with  age, 

Did  oft  our  youthful  reverence  engage. 

The  waving  hair  the  gray  head  did  adorn, 

When  faithfully  he  rose  with  shining  morn, 

And  coursed  his  way  about  and  followed  care 

And  sought  and  found  his  duty  everywhere. 

In  cures  and  therapeutics  versed,  he  knew 

The  healing  art;    to  diagnose  and  view 

The  ills  that  human  life  do  much  afflict 

And  its  fair  peace  and  pleasure  interdict. 

Oft,  as  he  passed  some  door  where  trouble  brewed, 

The  wife  ran  out,  and  faith  and  hope  renewed, 

When  his  sagacious  words  a  cure  dispense 

Without  reward — but  thanks  to  Providence ! 

So  freely  fell,  the  balm  of  healing  power 

Till  Fate's  swift  due  feet  brought  his  parting  hour. 

The  life,  so  true,  beneficent  and  brave, 

In  words  and  deeds,  designed  to  serve  and  save ; 

The  gentle,  hearty  kindliness  of  soul. 

We  would,  in  love  and  memory,  enroll. 

HENRY  FOWLER. 

June  30,  1812 — March  4,  1894. 

A  tuneful  one  holds  here  his  longest  rest 

If  not  now  chorister  among  the  blest, 

Who,   almost   from  the   days   of   lining  out, 

Rejoiced  to  guide  sweet  harmony  devout; 

Harmonious  quite,  in  every  part  himself, 

Until  his  lyre  was  laid  upon  the  shelf. 

No  discord  in  his  gentle  nature  dwelt 

And  vexed  him  when  at  eve  in  prayer  he  knelt; 


194  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

An  instrument  of  joy  and  gladsomeness, 
Now  tuned  to  psalmist's  hopeful  brighter  stress 
Or   'Come,  ye  drear,  disconsolate,'   or  Dundee 
And  China's  dread  lamenting  symphony. 
In  early  life,  he  gently  'plied  the  birch,' 
Then,  like  a  column  strong,  upheld  the  Church ; 
Then  legislates  the  wise  restraining  clause 
In  to  the  framework  of  Connecticut  laws. 
His  days  to  kindly  cheer  responsive  ran, 
Rare,  genial,  courteous  and  humorous  man. 
Mirth  lurked  within  his  twinkling  eye  to  thrill 
And  tuneful  voices  keep  his  living  still. 

RUSSELL  FRISBIE. 

July  27,  1780 — March  28,  1866. 

He  marches  forth  with  his  supporting  cane 
And  thick  surtout  to  warm  his  cooling  vein — 
And  slow  meanders,  where  his  swifter  feet 
Once  ran,  the  early  joys  of  life  to  meet. 
His  active  fortune-seeking  days  are  past 
When  year  by  year,  as  long  as  strength  did  last, 
He  ventured  forth  on  mercantile  exchange; 
For  then  our  merchantry  sought  wider  range. 
Before  the  days  of  rapid  transit  came, 
Good  people  promenaded  without  shame; 
Then  all  required  to  have  their  feet  well  clad 
And  this  the  end  our  southern  merchants  had. 
Bermudas  were  his  fortunate  fair  isles 
And  then  the  Carolinas,  other  whiles. 
Full  forty  years,  so  voyaging  forth  and  back, 
He  saw  wild  tempests  sweep  tossed  ocean's  track, 
And  children  ran  to  his  strong  arms  to  save, 
When  smote  the  whirlwind's  flail  upon  the  wave. 
Then  anchoring,  he  saw  last  suns  decline 
And  joined  this  mortal  to  that  life  divine. 


WESTSIDE  195 

MRS.  NANCY  JUDSON  FISHER. 

August  29,  1828 — September  19,  1882. 

Dark-eyed  brunette,  well  rounded  and  petite, 
Vivacious  in  her  manners,  in  habits  neat; 
By  nature,  training,  care  and  education, 
Well  fitted  to  fill  high  or  humble  station. 
She  poised  her  parasol  with  ready  grace 
And  speaking,  looked  you  frankly  in  the  face; 
Then  tripped  along  and  meeting,  not  a  few, 
And  seeing  others,  still  remembered  you. 
She  was  a  favorite,  in  good  renown, 
With  all  the  bachelors  and  belles  in  town, 
And  drilled  herself  in  woman's  way  to  be 
A  useful,  apt  and  skilled  authority; 
Relieved  the  needy  and  the  friendless  found 
And  practiced  'Good  Samaritan'  around. 
Then  Fortune  bore  htr,  far  among  the  hills, 
To  serve  and  bless  there  other  lives  and  wills. 
So  rose  and  ran  the  few  swift  years  away, 
Till  life's  last  journey  brought  her  back  one  day. 
Her  presence  still  before  us  comes  in  view, 
As  fadeless,  fair  and  frank,  as  once  we  knew. 


10 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  WESTSIDE. 

Part  VI :   Goldsmith — Johnson. 


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WESTSIDE  197 

REVEREND  ALVAH  BRADLEY  GOLDSMITH. 

December  2,  1792 — June  12,  1863. 

Precise  we  see  him,  as  precise  he  wore 

His  daily  dignity  and  careful  before 

Him  picked  his  way  along ;  but  all  the  while 

He  sought  another  path  with  wary  guile. 

Such  thought  was  much  the  fashion  of  the  day; 

Folk  grounded  here  planned  how  to  get  away. 

Bookish,  he  learn-ed  letters,  bought  and  sold ; 
And  in  the  freedom  of  his  thought,  he  told 
The  positive  conclusion  he  had  found 
In  unbelief;  but  quick  it  turned  unsound. 

He  would  not,  with  the  truth,  be  left  alone. 
So  finding  few  in  the  unbelievers'  zone, 
He  turned  him  to  the  faithful  for  repair, 
Yet  still  continued  unbeliever  there. 

So  bent  and  bound  to  shift  his  veering  views, 
As  often  as  he  learned   some  later  news. 
He  led  a  few,  as  warm  surrendered  souls, 
Away  to  their  own  chosen  goodly  goals. 

And,  in  a  kind  of    "Oxford  movement"   rare, 
This  legion,  to  the  school-house,   did  repair; 
Taking  for  doctrine,  not  intending  theft, 
Portions  of  what  the  Oxford  men  had  left. 

The  butt'nut  suit,  he  wore,  his  cool  repose, 
Fur  hat  and  spectacles  that  bridged  his  nose, 
The  simple  virtue  that  becalmed  his  humor 
And  made  him  far  too  shrewd  to  credit  rumor, 
We  saw  to  days  of  usefulness  increase, 
For  he  was  later,  justice  of  the  peace. 


I98  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

MRS.  MARY  CRUTTENDEN  GOLDSMITH. 

December  22,  1790 — February  4,  1861.     - 

She  stands  in  vista  of  the  past  to  view, 
A  dim  and  flitting  figure,  known  to  few ; 
But  busy  housewives  know  what  she's  about, 
As  round  the  house  she  bustles  in  and  out. 
And  little  recks  of  Alvah's  devious  ways ; 
When  slowly  he  emerges  from  some  haze 
Of  clouded  thought  to  say  at  table  grace, 
She  shows,  serene  before  the  Father's  face, 
The  humble  eye,  the  awed  and  stilled  suspense, 
That  full  betoken  her  deep  reverence. 
She  runs  to  see  the  jockey  gypsies  pass 
And  trembles  at  the  bolt  that  shakes  the  glass ; 
Enlivens  with  a  draught  the  thirsty  flower 
And  civil  with  a  neighbor,  chats  an  hour, 
Then  feeds  her  hungry  household ;    such  was  life, 
A  calling  to  this  faithful,  willing  wife. 
Her  full  compacted  form  and  gentle  gaze 
Are  warrants  of  well  spent,  devoted  days. 
With  hope  and  cheer  and  spicy  humor  blest, 
These  make  her  many  merits  manifest. 

JUDGE  NATHANIEL  GRIFFING. 

January  26,  1767 — September  17,  1845. 

He  lies  with  all  his  honor  in  this  bed, 
Who  long  life,  strenuous  and  useful,  led; 
So  welding  common  suffrage  in  himself 
That  he  was  never  laid  upon  the  shelf. 
At  home,   alas !    scarce  suffered   to   reside, 
Sent  off  so  constant  to  the  council  side. 
Of  large  and  liberal  mind,  he  was  trained 
To  all  our  civil  functions  and  ordained. 


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WESTSIDE  199 

His  call,   unanimous   did  Nature  give 
And  he,  a  son  of  Yale,  for  all  did  live 
In  higher  ministry  of  the  civil  state, 
Whereunto  all  these  other  things  relate; 
As  home,  school,  church  that  are  protected  safe, 
But  under  taxes  and  some  strictures,  chafe. 
He  studied  how  commercially  to  thrive 
And  soon  to  large  possessions  did  arrive 
To-day  they  tell,  when  the  Esquire  drove  round, 
The  children  near  all  courtesied  to  the  ground. 
About  his  two-caped  cloak,  they  love  to  twine 
The  fonder  memories  of  auld  lang  syne. 

MRS.   SARAH   BROWN   GRIFFING. 

June  3,  1767— June  i,  1865. 

Beside  the  hearth  with  her,  we  silent  sat 
In  reverent  mood  and  listened  to  her  chat. 
The  voice  seemed  plaintive,  in  its  mellow  tone, 
As  clear  sustained  and  full,  she  talked  alone. 
The  capped  head,  moving  to  enforce  the  word, 
We  listened  while  the  rocker  barely  stirred. 
Scarce  wrinkle  had  then  graved  the  matron's  face, 
The  collar  broad  gave  full  its  gentle  grace. 
Upon  the  brow,  the  nut-brown  parted  hair 
Held  its  own  color,  fadeless  full  and  fair : 
The  temper  calm  and  well  composed  the  mind 
And  if  the  eyes,  with  sightless  sense,  were  blind, 
The  thought  so  clear,  and  sensible  and  kind, 
Made  her  far-seeing  and  not  strictly  blind. 
True  fairer  picture  of  the  Pilgrim  mother, 
We  should  not  find  here  in  any  other. 
When  finally,  she  stirred  our  parting  tears, 
She  lacked  but  two  of  full  one  hundred  years. 
May  love  and  reverence  shield  her  hidden  dust 
That  should  remain,  a  known  and  sacred  trust. 


200  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

FREDERICK  REDFIELD  GRIFFING.* 

November  5,  1798 — October  13,  1852. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  large  affairs  indeed, 
And  builded  up  the  ways  that  quicken  speed, 
To  foster  full  exchange,  from  mart  to  mart, 
To  make  the  world  all  center  at  one  heart. 
He    sent    forth    ships   upon   the   trading   wind, 
That  blows  soft  gales  to  shores  of  Western  Ind. ; 
Then  sacked  the  coal-black  bowels  of  the  earth, 
Made  Gotham  shine  by  night  to  show  his  worth. 
Who    could,    sagacious,    lofty   labors    plan 
And  among  leaders  walk  a  leading  man ; 
Who  knew  to  counsel  youth  and  wisdom  give, 
The  while,  must  acclimate  himself  to  live: 
Who   still   remained   affectionate  to  please 
And  sought  to  put  his  neighbors  at  their  ease. 
Upon  the  Sabbath  day,  the  parson  knew 
He  would  be  punctual  to  the  corner  pew. 
Decades  have  passed,  yet  well  his  memory  lives 
In  his  own  deeds  and  fond  affection  gives 
Warm  welcome  to  his  name ;    while  still  survive 
The  fruitful  seeds  he  planted  when  alive. 

AUGUSTUS   PRATT  HALL. 
June   ii,   1822 — February  24,   1889. 

He  lived  his  life  just,  open  and  sincere 
And  long  and  well  will  be  remembered  here ; 
Impulsive  sure,  outspoken  in  his  speech, 
But  fair  and  frank  to  all  within  his  reach. 
He  helped  preserve  that  busy  elder  day, 

*  A  builder  of  the  Shore  Line,  New  Haven  to  New  London,  and  parts  of 
other  early  Eastern  and  Western  railroads.  An  associate  of  John  I.  Blair  of 
New  Jersey. 


WESTSIDE  201 

When  Guilford   fashioned  shoes  and  sent  away. 

Whatever  rugged  brambled  paths,  we  trod, 

He  strove  to  keep  us  always  stoutly  shod. 

Of  large  and  varied  gifts,  this   family 

For  vocal  hymn,  for  tuneful  psalm  and  glee: 

With  flutes  and  viols,  Sabbath  song,  they  raised 

When  here,  with  harmony,  the  Lord  was  praised. 

And  when  the  village  rung  with  tuneful  art, 

To  beat  the  reveille  was  long  his  part; 

More  thorough  make  the  bass  and  mark  the  time 

And  give  the  theme  and  note,  emphatic  chime. 

As  deep,  in  Alpine  dell,  the  drummer,  lost 

His  dying  strokes  did  soldiers'  ears  accost, 

So  still,  these  notes  their  echoed  sounds  prolong 

That  here  were  beat  before  our  village  throng. 

SHERMAN  BRADLEY  HALL. 

October   29,    1842 — July   3,    1897. 

An   eager-eyed,   fair,   sanguine-tempered  youth 

With  dark  and  raven  hair  and  gentle  sooth. 

He  had   a  quick,   divining  eye   for  numbers 

And  while  his  mate,  on  an  example,  slumbers, 

Sherman  has  solved  his  puzzle  like  a  book. 

Such  once,  were  early  notes  of  him  we  took. 

For  mutual  upbuilding  then  soon  he  sought 

The  city  and  commercial,  sold  and  bought. 

He  prospered,  in  a  word,  and  lived  his  life, 

Immersed   in  mercantile  and  honest  strife, 

Then  grew  in  form  more  handsome  and  robust, 

A  certain  manly  grace,  display,  he  must. 

With  stores  of  sense,  bright,  active  and  awake. 

He  clearly  saw  and  crisp  his  comments  spake. 

Then  well  it  pleased  and  could  but  charm  the  neighbors 

To  see  fond  Sherman,  from  his  busy  labors 


202  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

Take  time  and  spend  it  at  the  mother's  side, 
Till  each  was  justly  termed  the  other's  pride. 
Then  time  with  wafting  wings  flew  on,  and  he 
Sailed  forth  alone,  upon  the  unknown  sea! 

MISS  HARRIET  ELIZABETH  HALL. 

March  i,  1810 — March  15,  1881. 

She  rises,  well  enfolded,  full  and  fair, 
As  comely,  tall  and  womanly  in  air; 
With  Roman  nose  and  far  perceiving  eye 
And  salutation  sure  in  passing  by. 
So  resolute  and  willful,  on  occasion, 
She  wears  the  look  of  humorous  evasion 
And  arch  disinclination  to  collide 
With  others,  as  willful  and  full  of  pride. 
Her  sphere  for  decades  was  the  sacred  choir, 
When  drawing  curtains  clicked  along  the  wire. 
The  viol  loud  blew  in  the  bass ;    the  flute 
Its  tenor  threw ;    then  she,  no  longer  mute, 
Poured  forth  her  soul  in  praise  and  led  the  host 
That  worshipped  where  they  felt  the  spirit  most. 
And  now  her  counter  tone  runs,  high  and  clear, 
And  chases  fast  the  fleeting  fugue  so  near. 
Then  those  sonorous  notes,  so  pure,  so  brave, 
That  we  had  learned  to  listen  for  and  crave, 
No  longer  tuned,  from  harmony  released, 
This  sweet-toned  spirit,  pure  of  song,  deceased. 

ALFRED   HINCKLEY. 

November  24,  1821 — April  18,  1900. 

His  life  was  silent,  cloistered,  hid  from  view. 
His  function  was  to  clothe  a  man  anew, 
To  fashion  form  and  give  some  fitting  grace, 


WESTSIDE  203 

That  should  reflect  its  comfort  in  the  face. 
His  face  was  mobile,  where  his  features  played, 
Smiled  or  looked  troubled,   anxious  and  dismayed 
If  the  garment,  promised  one  in  November, 
Was  not  quite  fit  by  Christmas  in  December. 
Himself  was  stalwart,  tall  and  brawny  made; 
There  sometimes,  in  the  soil,  he  pushed  the  spade 
And  eased  the  earth  and  trained  the  vaulting  vine, 
The  orchard  reared  and  changed  the  grape  to  wine. 
To  humor  and  amuse,  he  turned  to  art 
And  with  sweet  harmony  he  played  his  part. 
And  then,  full  martial  as  the  grenadier, 
He  marched  and  countermarched,  in  quickstep  here. 
Conscience,  he  had  in  super-eminent  degree 
And  was  the  very  pattern  of  sincerity; 
Those,  fashioned,  cut  and  tailored  to  his  plan, 
All  had  a  larger  liking  for  the  man. 

WILLIAM   HENRY  HUBBARD. 

May  17,   1841 — September  16,   1863. 

He  was  our  daily  school  and  running  mate. 

We  dreamed  of  present,  past  and  future  state 

And  sent  our  vain,  beloved  selves  to  glory, 

When  up  rose  war  and  quickly  changed  the  story. 

He  went  to  glory  last,  but  first  to  war; 

Love  of  country  and  courage  were  his  law. 

And  when  away  to  war  he  proudly  went, 

He  took  the  valor  for  a  regiment; 

At  least,  as  much  as  any  man,  who  gave 

Himself  to  prospects   of  a   soldier's  grave. 

He  chose  and  turned  him  strong,  stern  and  severe 

Away  from  caring  for  these  acres  here, 

Away  from  happy  school-boy  life  and  play, 


204  MEMORIAL    EPITAPHS 

In  early  manhood's  brightest,  dearest  day ; 
Aglow  with  fire,  but  peaceful  as  the  dawn 
Athletic,  daring,  brave,  with  breasted  brawn, 
And  fleet  of   foot  to  chase  our  ball  away 
Upon  the  Green,  our  centre  guard  in  play ; 
War's  fever  laid  him  waste  on  Southern  soil 
And  took  him  from  his  hearty  life  and  toil. 

DANIEL  HAND.* 

July  16,   1801 — December  17,   1891. 

Recalling   all   the   mighty,   whom   we   can, 
None  had  more  of  the  majesty  of  man. 
Electric,  tense  and  tall,  he  stood  erect 
Compactly   formed,   upright   and   circumspect. 

His  might  and  personality  were  strong. 
To  him  too,  charms  and  graces  did  belong; 
A  manner   frank,  engaging  and  polite, 
Confident,   animated,  earnest  quite. 
Responding  now  with  arch,  appealing  glance, 
He  holds  the  willing  listener  in  a  trance. 

With  many  likings,  some  dislikes  he  had. 
His  energies  were,  of  a  tangent,  glad 
To  run  and  vent  themselves ;    so  strong,  his  will 
He  could,  at  leisure,  but  be  active  still ; 

Would  obstacles  deride  and  Fate  defy, 

All  means  employ,  but  on  himself,  rely. 

He  loved  the  world,  but  would  not  pay  it  court, 

Nor  e'er  with  fairy  pleasure  quite  disport. 

*  Burial  in  Hammonassett  cemetery.     His  bequest  for  the  education  of 
freedmen  was  one  million  of  dollars. 


DANIEL    HAND. 


WESTSIDE  205 

In  long  decline  of  years,  he  viewed  us  o'er, 
Coursing  the  winding  ways,  as  oft  before; 
Across  the  lawns,  now  glancing  at  the  fields, 
Admires  the  toil  and  what  the  harvest  yields. 

His   ken  was  large  and   statesmanlike  his  view. 

From  southern  lands,  where  first  his  fortune  grew, 

Fortune  with  honor  full,  he  saw  returned ; 

Then  gave   for   freedmen  what   his  honor  earned. 

In  pure  philanthropy,  he  holds  high  place 

As  friend  and  factor  of  that  lowly  race. 

AMOS  SAMUEL  HOTCHKISS. 

September  9,   1810 — June  26,   1893. 

Beneath  the  shrouding  soil,  he  loved  and  spaded, 
And  set  these  spreading  elms  his  form  have  shaded 
He  sleeps ;    around  him  prone,  I  silent  pace 
And  think  how  kindly  beamed  his  hidden  face. 
How  oft  the  light  that  from  his  window  shone, 
Allured  me  in  to  chat  with  him  alone ! 

The  gray,  worn  visage,  the  hawked  Roman  nose 
And  all  the   features,   rugged  in  repose, 
With  pleasure  gleamed,  while  far  into  the  past, 
All  our  eager,  studious  thought  was  cast. 

Now  as  I  come  alone  and  pensive  walk, 
'Uncle  Amos'  seems  as  of  old  to  talk 
About  the  prophets  and  the  ancient  Jew ; 
Isaiah  and  King  David,  whom  he  knew ; 

Isaac,  Jacob  and  others  of  the  race 
He  reverenced ;    he  spoke  with  grudging  grace 
Almost,  of  his  own  early  days;    his  life 
Made  strenuous  with  barter,  toil  and  strife. 


206  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

He  dwelt  beside  the  out  and  inning  tides, 
Where  rising  waters  meet  when  storm  presides ; 
He  battled  for  his  bread  there,  day  by  day, 
Plucked  fom  earth,  air  and  water  and  salt  hay. 
Through  all  his  battled  life,  he  comfort  took 
And    "cordial"  in  its  day;    nor  faith  forsook. 

His   table,   lecturn-like  the   Bible  held. 
He,  of  the  now,  in  past  and  future  dwelled ; 
Amos  loved  every  line  of  sacred  lore 
And  we  loved  Amos  till  he  was  no  more. 

JOHN  HOTCHKISS. 

March  9,  1791 — April  19,  1873. 

Upon  the  forest  verge,  where  shadows  dwell, 
And  leaves  of  vines  of  purple  vintage  tell, 
Where  arbutus  first  prinks  May's  beauty  out 
And  laurel  brightens  June,  he  lived  devout, 
And  plenty  plucked  from  stern  and  flinty  soil, 
Reward  of  prickly  smart  and  timely  toil. 
A  man  to  muse  and  love  the  tranquil  day 
Nor  lose  his  head  by  leaving  out  his  hay. 
The  form  was  never  bent,  the  hair  grew  white 
And  threw  a  happy  halo  round  his  height. 
When  peals  of  Sabbath  bells  rung  out,  he  rose 
And  dignified  his  outward  mien  and  chose 
The  way  to  church ;    with  cane,  high  hat,   erect 
He  passed  slow  onward,  thoughtful,  circumspect. 
Then  stirred  by  choral  lay,  inspired  by  priest, 
He   homeward    turned    with   happy   hope    increased. 
There  youth  made  revelry  and  oft  by  night, 
Dance,  song  and  voice  in  minstrelsy  unite. 
What  wanted  more?    in  daughters  three  and  son 
He  saw  descending,  how  his  race  would  run. 


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WESTSIDE  207 

ROBERT  HUNT. 

July  24,  1795— April  4,  1870. 

Where  gentle  breezes  flush  the  summer  glow, 
He  settled  in  our  town,  a  model  mile  below 
The  village,  valed  and  bluffed  around  with  hills. 
There,  came  strange  flying  folk  looking  for  thrills 
From  ocean's  dashing  spray  that  cools  the  wave 
Of  air,  too  timely  hot,  the  solstice  gave. 

Here  Tritons  blow  to  raise  or  hush  the  storm, 
Sweet  sirens  peaceful  come,  in  luring  form ; 
Gulls  lightly  soar  above,  then  ride  the  waves, 
When  seas  are  tranquil  over  seamen's  graves. 

Friends  walk  and  talk  by  moon  or  Falcon  light 

And  drink  the  outdoor  raptures  of  the  night, 

Then  read  and  cooler  fan  the  air;    at  eve 

The  breeze  fans  them  till  ready  to  receive 

Old  friends  and  new  fair  fresh  delights,   rehearse 

Poem   or  parlor-song   and  hours   converse. 

Such  pleasures   held  the  host  and  here   divers 
Many  shared  his  sweet  retreat  and  thrivers 
In  busy  marts,  rested  their  worn  out  reason 
And  loved  this  host  of  the  sweet  summer  season. 

Then  old  he  grew  and  for  himself  sought  rest 
And  wished  release  from  heavy  care's  behest 
And  canvassing  to  find,  where  all  friends  meet, 
He  came  to  Riverside  for  last  retreat. 

Old  guests  from  far  with  slow,  reluctant  feet 
Gathered  in  sacred  house,  where  Christians  meet; 
Their  dirges  sang,  their  words  of  sorrow  read, 
Then  down  the  aisle  bore  him  with  muffled  tread. 


2o8  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  JR. 

March  io,  1757 — June  20,  1836. 

A  ripe  old  man  with  shoulders   round  and  eyes 
That  peering,  pierce  and  hidden  stars  surprise. 
A  teacher  and  yet  lover  of  our  rising  race, 
We  cannot  slight  him  here  with  any  grace. 

Indeed,  he  is  recalled  by  not  a  few 

To  whom  he  had  imparted  all  they  knew, 

Or  would  have,  had  Fortune  to  him  brought  them. 

And  in  other  ways  this  teacher  taught  them ; 

A  lexicon,  for  instance,  once  he  made 

This  rare  remembered  present  passing  shade. 

He   reared   and  disciplined   into  their  letters, 
That  generation  past,  so  much  our  betters, 
Our  very  sires ;    and  watched  their  scanty  speech 
And  taught  them,  not  the  words,  to  overreach. 

He  ruled  and  copy  wrote  and  'corder'  used,* 
Then  fulled  the  cloth  no  gentleman  refused. 
To  mill  he  strides  in  cloak  and  double  cape ; 
All  this,  his   life  and   form,  to   toil  must  shape. 

But  now,  his  lexicon  is   rare  as  he. 

Sail  Stanton's,  kept  at  Yale,  is  sad  to  see ; 

The  cover  boards  have  lost  their  paste  through  fraud, 

For  Sally  was  a  bookworm,  there  she  gnawed. 

He  stocked  the  town  with  Eden's  apples  fair, 
The  Bristol  and  the  Pippin,  pledged  to  bear. 
Those  lustrous  eyes,  that  form  remembered  yet, 
Prove  him  a  man,  not  easy  to  forget. 
These  choice   Colonials   in   Johnson  meet, 
Eaton,   Theophilus   and  Jones   and   Leete. 
*  To  measure  wood — four  stakes,  set  up. 


MAJOR    S.    C.    JOHNSON. 


WESTSIDE  209 

MAJOR  SAMUEL  COLLINS  JOHNSON. 

October  24,  1792 — November  ii,  1872. 

This  man,  in  frame  and  mould,  majestic  grew, 
In  outward  form,  the  rarest  man  we  knew. 
Inward  serene,  composed  and  ever  cool, 
Mayhap  betokened  power,  reserved  to  rule. 
Some  governors  to  like  dignity  might  rise ; 
Some  generals,  when  decked  in  warlike  guise. 
He  was  a  man.  with  wit  and  humor  blest, 
And  quick  to  turn  a   sentiment  and  jest. 
His  humor  led  him  into  craft  of  state, 
Merchantry  to  leave  and  learn  to  legislate 
And  govern  and  firm  call  down  disorder, 
When  politics  should  on  rebellion  border. 
Allied  with  Ruggles  name,  to  Hulda  thanks, 
Where  we  have  traced  her  in  the  Johnson  ranks 
And  praise  her  now   for  sending  down  the  line, 
The   form,  the  wondrous   eyes,   so   dark  divine. 
Ah !    would  that  still  again  our  eyes  could  greet 
This  man,  we  knew  and  spoke  upon  the  street. 
Friend  of  our  kinsman,  both  here  in  retreat, 
Yet  how,  where,  when  two  majors  more  complete! 

MRS.  OLIVE  SPENCER  JOHNSON. 

February  27,  1810 — May  19,  1891. 

The  corner  house   and   store   adjoining   stood, 
Where  turn  we  gave  to  State  street  if  we  would. 
The    "tipping  block"    of  stone  lay  anchored  nigh, 
For  man  or  woman  who  came  riding  by. 
We   ran  with   cordial   step  unto   the   door 
And  met  her  in  those  golden  days  of  yore. 
Molded  fair  and  well,  she  was — eyes  like  day 
And  hair  to  match  in  color,  doubtless  grey. 


2IO  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

While,  in  the  clear,  frank  aspect  of  her  face, 

All  gentle  goodness  shone  with  stintless  grace. 

Kindness,  that  in  her  heart  prolific  grew, 

Was   spread   abroad  on   sufferers,   she  knew. 

A  large  and  noble  nature,  rare  to  see, 

Herself   plucked   off   the    full   ancestral   tree, 

That  much  has  furnished  hearths  and  chimney  sides 

With  manly  men  and  gentle  blooming  brides. 

Sweet  life,  she  gave  to  breathe  the  native  air 

To  son  and  daughter,  radiant  spirits  fair. 

For  heart  humane,  she  was  beloved  around 

And  there  are  those  who  worship  here  the  ground. 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  WESTSIDE. 

Part  VII:    Leete — Robinson. 


io* 


212  MEMORIAL    EPITAPHS 

DEACON  ALBERT  AUGUSTUS  LEETE. 

October  ii,  1805 — May  17,  1888. 

This  hardy,  manly,   faithful  saintly  soul 

Had,  in  the  nearing  eighties,  neared  his  goal. 

The   form,   of   ripe  and   full  pathetic  beauty, 

Then  touched  the  heart  with  proofs  of  closing  duty. 

Far  back,  we  well  remember  and  recall 

When  ranked  he  with  our  foremost  men  of  all. 

A  primate  to  the  old  "foundation  church," 

He  gave  his  pithy  speech  with   shrewd   research. 

His   lofty   thought   dwelt   not   in   sordid   zone. 

Feeling  with  pathos  mingled  in  the  tone. 

His  earnest  nature  gave  life  small  relent ; 

His  head,  in  mood  of  contemplation  bent, 

He  pondered  o'er  the  ways  of  man  on  earth 

And   spent  no  time  in  idle  joys  and  mirth. 

His  deep  strong  nature,  bound  to  narrow  heath, 

To  all  that's  best  like  pillar  stood  beneath. 

When  under  years  he  bowed  and  age  began, 

Fond  guidance  waited  on  the  rare  old  man. 

To-day,   how  gladly  give  him  watch  and  ward, 

Who  here  lies  slumbering  beneath  the  sward ! 

MRS.  BETSEY  ANN  LEETE. 

December  23,  1805 — October  14,  1881. 

The  household's  mother,  guardian,  guide  and  wife, 
Within  the  flesh,  she  led  the  spirit-life; 
While  in  and  yet  not  of  the  world,  a  part 
She  nurtured  well  her  excellence  of  heart; 
Patience  through  pain,  magnanimous  survey 
Of  life's  plans  thwarted  and  sweet  hope's  delay. 
She  seemed  a  saintly  character  on  her  way, 
Lengthening  out  with  us  an  earthly  stay. 


DEACON  ALBERT  A.  LEETE. 


WESTSIDE  213 

Who  was  indeed  a  true  and  human  creature, 
With  liquid  eyes,  radiant  and  fair  of  feature, 
In  youth's  full  rounded  form  with  soulful  look, 
Whom  neither  grace  nor  chastened  cheer  forsook. 
Words  still  resound  to  us  from  echoing  hall, 
Exchange  of  hail  and  hope  with  friendly  call. 
All  centered  here,  she  sons  and  daughters  reared, 
Sweet  influence  sent  out  and  was  revered ; 
Gained  love  of  all  and  gave  it  forth  around 
And  was  a  joyful  presence  homeward  bound. 
Her  shining  spirit  graced  this  wayside  rest, 
Whom  now  we  love  to  think  among  the  blest. 

SIDNEY  WARD  LEETE. 

April  7,  1833 — August  9,  1901. 

He  sat  him  down  at  eve  with  pain  opprest, 
Beneath  his  vine  and  tree  and  fell  at  rest. 
And  now  has  come  to  reap  life's  last  reward 
Under  this  same  green,  turfed  and  tender  sward. 

A  staunch  and  rugged  soul,  sincere  and  true; 
Too  prudent  far  to  tell  us  all  he  knew ; 
Though  mirthful  eyes  would  warn  of  merry  thought 
That  smiles  and  tears  with  joyous  laughter  brought. 

His  mental  gifts  were  vigorous  and  rare, 

His  constitution,  sturdy,  tall  and  spare. 

He  cared  for  friends,  but  little  cared  for  pelf 

And  storm  and  sunshine  through,  remained  himself. 

More  than  his  footsteps  stamped  the  ways  he  walked; 
The  man,  the  life,  the  things  of  which  he  talked. 
His  soul,  set  much  on  earth,  yet  hoped  for  heaven; 
This  hope  insured  his  life  and  gave  it  leaven. 
He  strove  with  faith  along  the  narrow  way 
And  reverenced  the  words  of  ancient  day. 


214  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

His  merits  high,  his  stature  would  not  tell. 
He  saw  far  shorter  men  above  him  dwell ; 
Upon  them  all  for  years  he  must  look  down 
But  never  coveted  their  earned  renown. 

Nature's  flowers  and  children  he  could  love 
And  smile  upon  their  innocence  from  above. 
Dwelling   side  by   side  never  caused  us   pain. 
We  met  to-day  and  hoped  to  meet  again. 
Neighbors  in  life,  our  dust  will  neighbors  be, 
When  Riverside  shall  hold  both  him  and  me. 

DEACON  CALVIN  MINER  LEETE.* 

October  18,  1816 — February  17,  1900. 

Where  waters  pour  and  pave  the  pebbled  strand, 
His  home  a  light-house  stood  to  sea  and  land. 
It  looked   inviting,   shining  red  around, 
And  was  a  station  on  "the  underground." 
For  there  his  justice  and  his  mercy  shone 
To  guard  and  guide  some  wanderer  alone. 

Governor  William  then  would  shine  through  him 
As   in  the  olden  days,   fast  growing  dim. 
No  old-time  soldier,  fresh  from  Bunker  Hill, 
Showed  more  of  fire  with  scant  military  drill. 

A  man  of  trained  intelligence  of  mind 
And  thought,  nor  easy  to  deceive  and  blind ; 
Could  give  the  reason  always  to  his  deed, 
Nor  rashly  strove  to  make  the  right  succeed. 

With  wit  and  humor,   social  to   address, 
We  loved  the  man  for  his  rare  manliness. 
He  was  the  leader,  nor  quite  easy  led, 
His  spirit  so  impetuous  forward  sped. 

*  Burial  at  Leete  Island. 


DEACON    EDWARD    L.    LEETE. 


WESTSIDE  215 

He  sat  in  councils  of  the  Church  and  State 
And  left  a  name  for  us  to  venerate; 
Commanding  in  his  form  and  marked  in  mien, 
When  ripe  with  age,  his  dignity  was  seen, 
A  man  to  turn  and  view  upon  the  street 
If,  as  a  stranger  somewhere,  you  should  meet. 

He  lived  the  while  he  lived  and  wore  his  crown, 
Known  far  and  wide,  a  father  of  the  town. 
Of   history  choice,  unwritten   in   our  day, 
Himself  made  much  and  carried  much  away. 

DEACON  EDWARD  LORENZO  LEETE * 

June  28,  1810 — May  3,  1884. 

Of  all  men,  least  could  he  be  soon  forgot, 

Who  lived  his  long  life  out  and  now  is  not. 

His  manly  majesty  with  calm  repose 

And  quiet  dignity  before  us  rose, 

Beloved  to  view  and  showed  in  human  guise 

Virtues  we  love  to  covet,  seek  and  prize. 

Nature  endowed  him  well  to  be  elect; 

For  counsel   formed,   discreet  and  circumspect. 

He  early  taught  nor  ever  ceased  to  teach ; 

So  well  his   inner  life  did  outward  reach. 

Where  stands  fair,  fruitful  learning's  laureled  tree, 

He  came  as  pruning  patron  and  trustee. 

To  priestly  rank  as  faithful,  he  belonged 

And  close  around  him  frequent  listeners  thronged. 

His  utterance  came  slow  to   Christian  folk, 

For  he  was  still  a-thinking  as  he  spoke. 

But  when  he  rose  to  moderate  town-meetings, 

He  seemed  full  fit  to  have  the  township's  greetings. 

*  Burial  at  Leete  Island. 


2l6  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

To  chambers  of  the  State,  he  sometimes  went 
And  brought  his  aid  to  wiser  government. 

He  was  so  grand  a  model  of  a  man, 
To  love  and  honor  and  copy  if  we  can. 
In  his  own  time  and  day,  among  the  few, 
We  should  select  and  now  hold  up  to  view. 

As  when,  upon  the  wall,  the  constant  eye 
Of  portrait  follows  us,  when  passing  by 
We  turn  to  treasure  and  prolong  its  phase, 
So  he  upon  us  bends  his  earnest  gaze. 

MORRIS  ATWELL  LEETE. 

November  io,  1795 — December  23,  1864. 

A  sturdy  man  he  was  nor  measured  right, 
As  gauged  alone  by  what  first  seemed  to  sight, 
In  short,  for  he  was  not  tall  but  reverse. 
His  hidden  merits  let  us  here  rehearse. 
He  welded  life  and  fortune  at  the  forge, 
Building  his  fire  beside  the  chimney's  gorge ; 
Then,  on  the  anvil,  smiting  as  he  stands, 
The  art  most  useful,  skillful  he  commands. 
He  blows  the  fulgent  fire,  then  holds  at  rest 
And  dares  to  grapple  danger  to  his  breast; 
Then  seized  the  hoof  and  shod  it  iron-bound 
And  pierced  it  through  with  slender  nails  around. 
We  saw  him  long  reliant  in  many  things. 
He  had  the  reputation  late  life  brings ; 
For  judgment,  in  a  word,  had  just  renown, 
Was  so  called  forth  as  counsel  to  the  town. 
He  disciplined  and  trained  to  fill  his  place 
Sons  still  mightier,  of  his  very  race, 
In  days  when  discipline  employed  the  rod. 
He  joined  respect  for  man  with  fear  for  God. 


WESTSIDE  217 

MRS.  CLARINDA  GRAVES  LEETE. 

August  27,  1799 — May  23,  1863. 

The  vision  rises  of  her  form,  inclining 

Her  aspect  mild  and  ever  kind  designing. 

The  voice,  then  heard  in  pleasant  mellow  flow, 

The  love  that  acts  of  friendly  kindness  show, 

These  dwell  with  us,  a  present  potent  force 

Of  happy  recollection  through  life's  course. 

Her  gliding  days,  not  few,  nor  swift,  nor  strong, 

She  did  improve  and  happily  prolong. 

Many  a  son  and  daughter,  borne  and  reared, 

And  friends  afar,  to  whom  she  was  endeared, 

To-day  pronounce  her  name  with  tender  thrill 

With  fond  affection  true,  increasing  still. 

Her  life  the  best  ambitions  did  proclaim, 

To  surpass  herself,  in  virtues,  was  her  aim ; 

That  chief  ambition  nobly  she  pursued 

And  with  high  impulse  her  beloved  endued. 

Christian  conscience  here  served  her  living  guide 

And  while  on  earth,  she  held  her  heaven  aside. 

Her  life,  in  others,  now  goes  pulsing  on 

And  prompts  the  memory  we  look  upon. 

CHARLES  WILSON  MILLER. 

October  6,   1819 — October   i,   1875. 

Decades  have  passed  since,  master  of  the  mart, 
He   practiced    merchantry  with   magic   art. 
As  patient  as  the  sun  and  sunlike  beaming, 
Holding  spiced  flavored  stores  for  our  redeeming. 

A  man  of  gracious  and  benignant  port, 

As  fair  to  please  and  general  favor  court; 

To  bear  the  brunt  of  traffic,  shrewd  and  sharp, 


218  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

When  traders,  pert  and  chaffering,  would  carp 

And  quote  some  down-town  merchant's  cheaper  prices ; 

Then  ask  for  credit  over  coming  crises. 

He,  scorning  payment,  would  his  stores  disburse 
And  turn  the  threatened  panic  in  the  purse ; 
Then,  in  a  stylish  gig,  would  drive  away 
This  merchant  to  perfection  in  his  day. 

He  held  a  House  of  Commons  after  dark 
Open  to  those  who  could  and  would  remark; 
Who,  benched  in  line  before  the  outer  door, 
Offered  laughter,  part  payment  at  the  store. 

And  where  bright  mirth  and  joy  and  glee  entrance, 
He  moved,   a  social   leader  of  the  dance. 
Then  trod  the  sacred  aisle  at  church  to  seat, 
Silk  hat,  held  out  in  hand,  so  very  neat ; 
Befriended  there  the  parson,  in  earth's  trouble, 
Trusting;  heaven  would  sure  reward  them  double. 


'to 


Heaven  sent  him  many  blessings  to  enjoy 
But  mixed  with  Fortune's  favor  Fate's  alloy. 
Alas !    his  excellence  too  soon  we  mourn 
Who  saw  his  genial  presence  from  us  borne. 

BEVERLY  MONROE. 

August  18,  1824 — January  26,  1906. 

These  weary  words  are  all  that  now  remain 

To  idly  tell  the  sorrow,  we  sustain, 

As  vain  we  turn  for  solace  and  relief 

To  give  expression  to  and  ease  our  grief. 

We  crossed  the  threshold  of  each  other's  door, 
Exchanging  interest  in  each  other's  lore, 
And  heard  the  fairy  fancies  of  his  pen 


WILLIAM    H.    H.    MURRAY 


WESTSIDE  219 

When  his  imagination  wandered ;    then 
Mingled  mirth  and  story  at  the  social  board, 
When  California  golden  treasures  poured. 

He  had  old  Zeno's  fancy  for  the  real, 
Manly,  ardent,  aspiring  in  ideal ; 
But  simple  in  his  tastes,  in  busy  strife. 
More  man  than  merchant  to  the  end  of  life. 

He  had  fared  far  and  looked  on  other  lands, 
On  Europe's,  Afric's,  and  our  western  strands; 
Nor.  in  annual  journeying,  far  or  near, 
Had  he,  in  wandering,  lost  interest  here. 

But  faithful,  fair  and   friendly  in  his  day, 
Served  noble  needy  causes  in  his  way; 
Of   shrewd  and  wary  judgment  to  advise, 
Nor  apt,  twixt  right  and  wrong,  to  temporize. 

True  Scotia's  sconce  led  him  through 'active  life, 
As  though  in  Aberdeen,  Melrose  and  Fife. 
Eight  busy  decades,   strenuous  unrolled, 
Nor  dimmed  his  eager  eye  nor  made  him  old. 
One  day  we  met  and  arms  entwined  around, 
Our  last  farewell,  for  he  was  outward  bound ! 

WILLIAM  H.  H.  MURRAY.* 

April  26,  1840 — March  3,  1904. 

So  comely  and  commanding,  fair  and  large, 
How   shall   remembrance   friendly  now   discharge, 
Since  he  is  gone,  its  final  dues  to  him? 
The  flashing  eye,  the  manly  form  and  limb, 
The  cheering  tone,  persuasive  spell  and  more, 
The  hearty  grasp,  the  laughter,  all  restore? 

*  Burial  on  the  Homestead. 
II 


220  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

In  life's  first  eager  prime  and  upward  aim, 
We  saw  his   faithful,   happy  toil  proclaim 
His  high  ambition  and  devotion  true 
To  reach  an  eminence,  attained  by  few. 

Park  Street  and  Adirondack  give  the  name 
To  his  more  early  and  some  later   fame; 
While  pulpit,   desk   and  platform,  year  by  year, 
Drew   eager,   waiting   multitudes   to   hear. 

Then  tales  of  forest  life  and  Nature,  rude, 
Where  health  and  joy  and  freedom  better  brood, 
Soon  brought  an  impulse  to  these  tasking  times 
And  added  new  attractions  to  our  climes. 

But  vigor  strong  and  aspiration  high, 
With  all  that  earnest  ardor  can  imply, 
Could  not.  prevail  to  bar  reverses  sore 
That  handicapped  his  later  years  and  more. 

Then,  to  these  loved  ancestral  glebes  retired, 
He  plied  the  toilsome  crafts,  his  skill  acquired 
And  threw  upon  the  homestead  all  the  care, 
He  had  preserved  in  life  for  life's  repair; 
By  Nature,  formed  on  large  and  lofty  plan, 
E'en  chequered  life  gives  lustre  to  the  man. 

WILLIAM  NORTON. 

November  7,  1801 — May  24,  1885. 

His  stalwart  form,  erect  and  armed  for  tillage, 
He  so  employed  and  much  surprised  the  village; 
That  knew  him  well  as  bound  to  a  career, 
Then  saw  him,  ploughing  his  rough  acres  here; 


MRS.    MARY    C.    PARKER. 


WESTSIDE  221 

With  all  the  odds  of  Greek  and  Latin  lores 
Against  him  sore,  with  logarithms  and  stores 
Of  lessons  that  would  set  him  often  pondering 
And  turn  his  mind  from  daily  duties,  wandering. 

The  contradiction,  waste  and  loss  of  force 

In  taking  upward  first,  then  downward  course 

Were  so  unmasked  to  all  the  region  round, 

He  was  called  'scholar'  here  where  seen  or  found. 

We  viewed  him  often  thus,  with  close  discerning, 
But  never  saw  him  once  display  his  learning; 
For  while  he  played  the  stubborn  farmer's  role, 
He  kept  the  scholar  under  schooled  control. 

Will   resolute  was  stamped   upon  him  strong 

And  what  he  willed,  would  warrant  after  long. 

Not  Andrew  Jackson's  self  had  firmer  face. 

He  carried,  now  a  scholar's,  now  a  farmer's  grace; 

Proving  faithful  in  both  of  these  careers 

And  took  M.A.  just  after  forty  years. 

For  then  the  love  of  learning  did  revive 
And  later  still,  he  last  of  all,  did  wive. 
Life,  handicapped  in  common  estimation, 
He  lived  despite,  but  reached  his  destination. 
The  furrow,  last  and  deepest  of  all  he  made, 
Here  shows  the  saddest  uses  of  the  spade. 

MRS.  MARY  CLARISSA  PARKER. 

February  7,  1836 — December  i,   1895. 

Attractive,  fair  and  tall,  she  filled  the  space 
That  Nature  gave  with  winning  ways  and  grace. 
She  would  the  parson  fearless  entertain, 
When  annual  he  came  and  would  remain, 


222  MEMORIAL    EPITAPHS 

Past  duty  and  intention,  bound  to  see 

Just  how  this  lady  matched  in  repartee ; 

For  she  brimmed  over  joyously  with  gladness 

And  had  no  close  alliances  with  sadness. 

And  yet,  a  pensive  undertone  did  flow 

Still  sweetly  through  her  nature  and  did  show 

An  excellence  far  richer  than  this  art. 

That  there  shone  forth,  reflected  from  her  heart. 

And  gave  then  full  the  sympathetic  power, 

The  gentlest  gift  in  all  fair  woman's  dower. 

Many  a  year,  she  imparted  gifted  graces 

Of  lettered  learning  that  brighten  youthful  faces 

With  apt  instruction  from  the  teacher's  chair. 

Life's  sands  ran  happy  out  and  while  still  fair. 

Her  strength  and  days  declined  and  ere  we  knew, 

To  deep  regret,  here  brought  her  journey  through. 

CAPTAIN   URIAH   NELSON   PARMELEE.* 

August  24,  1841 — April  i,  1865. 

He  sat  upon  a  wall   seat  in  the  rear, 

His  coat  close  buttoned  down  in  front  and  queer : 

And  promenading  up   and  down  the  aisle 

And   walking,   as   in   dreamland,   stirred  the   smile. 

We  loved  him  for  the  earnest  way  he  trod, 
Although   it  was  unique  as   Dick  and  odd. 
For  oh !    so  happy  then  was  he  a-learning, 
As  scarce  of  aught  thing  else  to  be  discerning. 

In  faculty,  shrewd,  active  and  acute, 

He  was   more  known   for  being  resolute ; 

His    humor,    pleasing    and    his    laughter,    bright, 

In  spirit,  brave,  and  character,  upright, 

*  A  member  of  the  Class  of  1863,  Yale  College,  until  the  beginning  of  the 
Junior  Year.     Burial  at  Five  Forks,  Va. 


CAPTAIN    U.    N.    PARMELEE. 


WESTSIDE  223 

Then  war  came  on  and  stirred  his  ardor  strong 
And  off  he  went,  hot-foot  to  right  the  wrong, 
Flung  down  his  books  and  scholar's  satchel  then 
And  faced  about  before  disunion  men. 

His  duty  was  to  bear  through  tire  and  smoke 

The  orders  swift  that  answering  fire  awoke; 

To  lead  a  charge,  to  rally  broken  lines, 

To  dare  rush  in,  where  hazard  most  inclines. 

Then  Fate  upon  him  turned  and  ambuscade 

Of  shell  and  cannon,  his  charmed  life,  waylaid. 

Such   was   Uriah,    when   we   knew   him   well, 
Who   followed  his   ideals,   till   he  fell. 
His  noble  brow  and  thoughtful,  happy  face, 
The  compact  form,  he  bore  with  careless  grace, 
His  staunch  devotion  and  ambition,  high, 
With  loves  and  memories,  now  buried  lie. 

DOCTOR  GIDEON  PERRY  REYNOLDS. 

February  6,  1829 — December  10,  1897. 

Faithful,  his  life  and  ease  he  did  devote, 

O'er  us  to  watch  and  our  ill  symptoms  note ; 

Stood  skilled  and  brave  twixt  us  and  death  impending 

And  by  his   magic  ways   deferred   life's   ending. 

We  felt  secure  in  his  strong  arm  and  will 
And  confided  in  his  diagnosing  skill 
To  read  the  wayward  signs  of  storm  and  stress 
That  give  the  life  disease  and  weariness. 


&j 


Now,   rising  sleepless   from  his  short  repose, 

He,  forth  into  the  stilly  darkness  goes ; 

Through  blasts  of  wind  and   searching  storm  afar, 


224  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

He  speeds  to  where  the  silent  watchers  are ; 
There  cheers  and  brightens  some  life's  feeble  ray 
And  brings  hope  back  with  dawning  of  the  day. 

A  man  of  taste  and  skill  and  much  refined 
Intelligence  with  will  and  sense  combined 
And -devotion  to  the  weak;    whom  he  would  oft 
Bid  rise,  go   forth  and  bear  themselves  aloft. 

So   freely,   spending  life   for  us,   he  passed 

His  days ;    nor  spared  his  ageing  strength  at  last 

But  gave  it  in  a  moment  at  the  call 

And  hastened,  far  too   faithful,  to  his  fall. 

Till   there,    in  yonder  house,   he  prostrate  lies 

Whom  death  himself  has  taken  by  surprise. 

His  form,  so  tall  in  might  and  power  abounding, 
Guards  us  no  more,  when  danger  comes  surrounding, 
And  we,  for  whom  he  often  saved  the  day, 
Could  not  save  him  from  faring  first  away. 

REVEREND  HENRY  ROBINSON. 

December  20,  1788 — September  14,  1878. 

Here  rests,  once  pupil  of  the  elder  Dwight, 
Thinking  the  master  knew  all  mortal  might; 
In  youth,  sang  counter  to  the  village  choir, 
In  college,  led  and  tuned  the  sacred  lyre. 

To  four  old  high  and  stone-walled  parish  towns 
He  preached  and  prayed  and  walked  their  windy  downs. 
Pure  clerical  cravat,  white  not  austere, 
Carried  his  flag  of  truce  then  far  and  near. 

As  parson  plain,  he  kept  his  humor  hid, 
But  social  stories  told,  when  others  did; 
Loved  wisdom  well,  had  much  historic  sense, 


REV.    HENRY    ROBINSON. 


MRS.    MARY    C.    ROBINSON. 


WESTSIDE  22  5 

With  some  misgivings,  trusted   Providence. 
And  full  of  local  lore  of  olden  times, 
CKaucer  describes  him  in  his  ancient  rhymes. 

His  errand  was  the  human  soul  to  save. 
How  heathendom  to  win  spare  thought  he  gave; 
But  when  the  British  came,  in  frockcoats  red, 
He  met  them  with  a  gun  at  Sachem's  Head. 
The  homeless   sometimes   dined  within  his  door 
And  glad  they  stretched  upon  the  furnished  floor. 

To  grief's  asylum,  he  would  faithful  turn, 
When  Fate  had  finished  some  leased  life's  sojourn, 
And  strive  to  soften  sorrow's  bitter  blows 
With  pathos,  such  as  sympathy  bestows. 

Taking  his  cue  in  life  from  the  divine, 
He  sought  to  measure  right  on  human  line; 
Commending  to  God's  mercy  and  sweet  peace, 
In  which  his  labors  brought  their  due  increase. 

MRS.  MARY  CUSHING  ROBINSON. 

May  12,   1801 — April   18,   1885. 

Dearest  remembrance  gathers  round  this  space 
That  holds  so  much  to  us  of  worth  and  grace; 
Of  merit  measureless  and  rare  repose, 
Of  love,  the  fondest  that  life  ever  knows. 

The  tall  and  comely  form,  enfolding  fair, 
That  held  her  pleasing  presence  in  repair, 
The  voice  for  song  and  converse  ready  too, 
With  all  the  knitting  skill  her  fingers  knew — 

Alas !    no  heir  to  all  that  art  and  ken 
Who  knew  to  put  the  nib  upon  a  pen — 
Cowper,  minor  poets  and  Hannah  More 
With  psalms  of  David,  her  literary  store. 


226  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

And  when,  upon  the  knees,  she  hid  her  face 
In  prayer,  beseeching  at  the  throne  of  grace, 
Then  raptures,  o'er  her  from  above,  came  stealing, 
As  there  she  pled,  for  blessings  on  us,  kneeling. 

The  dower  of  gifts,  fitted  for  life's  wear, 
Sacrifice  to  make,  joys  and  griefs  to  bear; 
The  livelong  patience  of  the  gentle  sway 
That  bore,  nor  murmured  of  it,  day  by  day; 

The   faith,  learned  early  in  the  village  manse, 
Whose  shepherd  sire  could  teach  no  trust  in  chance- 
These  still  give  precious  presence  to  the  name 
That,  lost  from  life,  life  cannot  be  the  same. 

A    thousand    mellow    memories    survive 

And  keep  thy  gentle  guidance  still  alive; 

We  would  not  part  from  thee,  yet  say  farewell ! 

Who  dost  secure  in  our  affections  dwell. 

MAJOR  SAMUEL  ROBINSON. 

September  16,   1795 — April  7,   1866. 

He  came  unto  this  many  chambered  inn 
From  life's  long  varied  busy  discipline; 
A  man  of  rarest  social  gifts  and  humor, 
Still  mentioned  over  in  our  village  rumor ; 

Of  form  and  feature,  manly,  fair  and  tall, 
As   early   Viking  or  the  Jews'   king   Saul ; 
Whene'er  he  danced  at  'ordination  ball' 
With   fair  Sophia,  none  fairer  graced  the  hall. 

He  loved  to  lead  the  dance  to  violin, 
Where  cheer  without  made  harmony  within ; 
Himself  and  flute,  two  instruments  of  song, 
That  did  through  life  their  symphonies  prolong. 


MAJOR    SAMUEL   ROBINSON. 


WESTSIDE  227 

He  was  an  early,  loyal   son  of  Yale 

And  bore  her  club,*  borne  by  the  strong  and  hale. 

The  ways  of  war,  he  strove  to  cultivate, 

The  ways  of  peace,  he  went  to  legislate. 

Then  youth,  brave,  bold  or  gently  formed  and  fair, 
Guidance  and  discipline  he  rendered  there, 
With  years  of  drill,  in  scholar's  work  and  play; 
To  church  on  Sunday  led  and  taught  to  pray. 
From  near  and   far  then,  foreign  youth  and  Spanish, 
He  trained  till  blindfold  ignorance  did  vanish. 

Now  far  they  come  and  spend  an  hour  and  tarry ; 
The  westside  house  and  wall,  away  would  carry. 
Homing  from  distant  shores,  men  old  and  grey 
Come  back  to  view  the  scene  and  place,  they  say 
'The  Major*  once  life's  law  and  lesson  gave; 
These  memories  give  pathos  to  his  grave. 


*  The  famous  "bully  club,"  carried  by  the  athletic  man  of  the  class. 


GUILFORD   PORTRAITS, 

MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS  OF  WESTSIDE. 

Part  VIII :    Smith — Weld. 


£«*&    t#fc  > 


SAMUEL    SPENCER. 


WESTSIDE  229 

MISS  MARY  CAROLINE  SMITH. 

June  22,  1817 — April  18,  1903. 

As  some  sweet,  rippling,  purling,  gentle  stream, 

Between  its  grassy  banks,  will  flow  and  gleam 

And  softly  murmur  to  the  passer  by, 

Reflecting  features,  he  will  not  deny, 

So  peacefully  through  happy  life,  she  sped 

And  as  the  years  fast  fleeting,  onward  led, 

Life's  full  bright  cheer,  responsive  in  her  gleamed 

And  ever  fair  and  fresh  nor  faded  seemed ; 

When  forth  she  held  her  hand  to  gentle  grasp 

Well  veined  and  slight,  that  hand  did  Halleck  clasp. 

So  close  she  linked  us  to  the  vanished  past 

And  its  rare  radiance  upon  us  cast. 

Much  woven  intricate  romance  she  caught 

In  real  life  and  in  romance  she  sought 

And  read :    to  all  romantic  schools,  she  clung 

Exclusively  and  lived  entranced  among. 

Thus,  real  with  unreal  world  did  blend ; 

Which  she  preferred,  to  say  would  not  pretend. 

One  eve  she  closed  her  book  and  sought  repose; 

That  moment  short,  life's  page  itself  did  close. 

SAMUEL  SPENCER* 

June  10,  1775 — March  16,  1871. 

It  is  a  rare  and  ripe  sweet  sylvan  view 
And  strikes  the  eye  indeed  as  something  new, 
When  from  the  westside  Spencer  home  lookout, 
We    stand   surveying   carefully   about 

And  down  the  river,  winding  seaward,  look 
To  see  their  way  the  vessels  warp  and  crook, 
The   warning   light,   the    steamers   passing   hulk, 
White  swelling  waves,  the  farther  shores  that  bulk. 

*  State  senator,  1844. 


230  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Blazing  the  way,  as  parent  pioneer, 
Came  Samuel  and  settling,   founded  here 
His  family,  that  long  has  flourished  well 
And  where  still  full  as  flourishing  they  dwell. 

We  saw  him  in  his  honored  hale  manhood 
In  large  and  lofty  vigor,  as  he  stood 
Amidst  the  fruits  and  spoils  of  toilsome  strife, 
That  gathered  round  his  closing  century  life. 

Yet  fairer  fruits  and  gains  than  those  in  store, 
Gathered  in  yearly  burdened  barn,  he  bore ; 
Fruits  of  his  own  ancestral  living  tree, 
Forms,  manly  brave,  forms  womanly  and  free; 

Till  there,  in  many  another  family, 

Joined  branching,  in  some   full  new  tenant  tree, 

They   have   in   turn  brought    fair   increase 

In  humanity  and  happiness  and  peace. 

The  sycamores,  grown  grey  high  overhead, 
Beloved  of  those,  o'er  whom  their  branches  spread, 
Have  seen  the  generations  growing  old 
Which   their  protecting   mighty  arms  enfold. 

MRS.   ELIZABETH  TUTHILL  SPENCER. 

January  13,  1781 — October  17,  1873. 

Her  life,  once  young,  alert  with  gifted  strength 
To  cope  with  care  and  love  the  long  day's  length 
Here  spent  its  busy  morn  and  peaceful  eve, 
Whose  shadows  lengthening  of  care  relieve ; 
Four  generations  at  that  eve  adorning 
Its  radiant  fair  and  past  propitious  morning. 


MRS.    ELIZABETH    T.    SPENCER. 


WESTSIDE  231 

Two  years  she  spent  in  "throwing  off  the  yoke" ; 

Colonial  old  English  then,  alone  she  spoke, 

Like  George  the  Third,  who  cried  "What,  what!"  and 

"zounds !" 
Her  thrift  that  too  ran  off  in  pence  and  pounds. 

Her  mind  and  clear  opinion  were  her  own ; 
Nor  were  to  some  new  fancy  quickly  thrown. 
She  would  not  worship  fashion,  but  for  change 
Preferred  the  gospels  with  their  wider  range. 

From  all  weak  follies,  with  ease  refraining, 

To  spend  the  hours,  her  sons  and  daughters,  training. 

These  jewels  dear,  she  like  Cornelia  showed 

And  to  them  faithful,  richer  worth  bestowed. 

Choice  hours  daily  with  Temperance  spending; 
Temperance,  with  peace  and  long  life,  blending. 
Thus  conspired  to  run  two  centuries  through 
As  together,  they  near  made  out  to  do. 

So  passed  her  happy  days,  supremely  blest, 

And  found  a  foretaste  here  of  heavenly  rest. 

Erect  and  throned,  she  sits  in  straight-backed  chair, 

In  folding  cape,  clasped  hands  and  queenly  air. 

Victory  and  peace  are  pictured  in  her  face ; 

A  grand  old  lady  with  life's  crowning  grace. 

MRS.  TEMPERANCE  TUTHILL  SPENCER. 

April  13,   1787 — February  25,   1885. 

None  more  alive  can  seem  than  she  now  gone, 
Whom  here  again,  we  shall  not  look  upon. 
A  noble  soul,  beyond  her  day  and  time, 
A  dame  to  be  remarked,  in  any  clime. 
The  long  life's  happiness  is  in  her  look, 
For  a  vigorous  hold  of  life,  she  took. 


232  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

Her  form,  majestic,  rilled  an  ample  space 
With  woman's  dignity  and  strength  and  grace ; 
Of  spirit  full,  the  dark  eye,  kindling  kind, 
For  joy,  and  cheer  and  love  dwelt  in  her  mind 

With  humorous  mirth,  for  she  loved  the  joke. 
When  from  the  ample,  fiery  hearth,  the  smoke 
Flew  up  the  chimney  to  regain  the  sky, 
She  gave  the  blaze  a  brightness  from  her  eye. 

And  yet  her  thoughts  and  hopes  looked  far  away 
Through  visions,  mindful  of  eternal  day ; 
For  in  the  Bible  she  was  most  expert, 
O'er  its  loved  pages,  she  did  hours  divert. 

And  the  parson  had  better  well  prepare 

Nor  absent-minded  be,  when  calling  there. 

She  would  catch  him  short  on — where  was  Babel? 

Or  ask  was  Vashti's  unknown  story  fable? 

Nor  was  she  lost  in  depths  of  ancient  mystery, 

But  lived  herself  in  very  modern  history; 

Close  watched  the  movement  of  affairs  of  State 

And  their  just  progress  would  accelerate. 

Such  was  "Aunt  Tempe,"  known  here  far  around, 

And  treasured  still  in  our  affections,  bound. 

HENRY  REEVE  SPENCER. 

September  22,   1820 — June  19,   1898. 

He  was  a  man  to  welcome  on  the  street 
With  air  of  fine  civility  to  greet 
In  turn :    this  drew  us  to  him  for  his  cheer 
And  then  his  manliness  did  more  appear. 
Nature  endowed  his  form,  in  high  degree, 
And  full  as  generous  within  was  she. 


MRS.    TEMPERANCE   T.    SPEXCER. 


"V 


WESTSIDE  233 

He  was  all  prudent,  circumspect  and  sound, 
His  judgment,  counseling  looked  well  around, 
To  him  we  ran  for  wisdom  and  behoof, 
'Gainst  fickle  Fortune's  turning  to  be  proof. 

He  ranked  in  worth  among  our  better  men, 

Whose  skill  the  common  weal  craves,  now  and  then, 

When  public  things,  so  precious  to  us  all, 

For  wise  direction  and  discretion,  call. 

He  served  us  in  our  year  of  jubilee* 

To  serve  the  Church  of  Christ,  he  was  as  free. 

And  when  at  last,  he  came  unto  his  end 

Men  far  and  wide  lamented  him  as  friend, 

Here  we  are  left,  upon  our  western  side, 

Poorer,  in  joy  and  manhood,  to  abide. 

WILLIAM   STANTON. 

July  30,  1800 — August  23,  1874. 

On  lilied  margin  of  the  pond,  his  throne; 
His  suite  of  rooms  was  one,  he  lived  alone, 
In  body  stubbed,   like  the   stumpy   tree, 
Which,  of  its  branches,  all  blown  off,  is  free. 
His  figure  made  the  landscape  picturesque, 
A  landscape,  brambly  odd,   almost  grotesque. 
His  life  was  long,  but  shadow  short  and-  dress, 
Like  address  rough,  hung  on  with  fittingness. 
And  further  too,  his  character  was  bluff; 
But  in  his  boots  of  cowhide,  he  looked  tough. 
Such  was  his  work  outdoors ;    for  laying  walls, 
His  forte  was  nothing  if  not  tough ;    some  calls 
And  wireless  message  came  from  farmers  round, 


1889. 


234  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

With  whom  he  toiled  in  mellowing  the  ground. 
And  once, — this  was  the  labor  of  his  life, — 
He  'stooped  to  conquer'  and  took  himself  a  wife. 
His  hut  amidst  the  briars  and  burly  brambles, 
One  sees  no  more,   in   all   his  wayside  rambles ; 
Departed  are  the  chimney  and  the  hall, 
But  stones  in  walls,  his  memory  recall. 


LEVERETT  CAMP  STONE. 

June  4,  1819 — June  12,  1892. 

Where  shades  of  a  governor,  falling  near 
Have  left  some  ancient  memorials  here 
And  other  lines  ancestral  full  unite 
And  cluster  round  with  dignity  this  site, 
Clear,  to  our  modern  view,  he  brought  the  type 
And  showed  us  in  himself  those  virtues  ripe. 
Which  we  refer  to  that  now  vanished  day 
When  worshipful  forerunners  held  their  sway. 
In  spirit  firm  and  upright  as  his  form. 
All  incorruptible,  through  calm  and  storm 
Of  life,  he  held  the  tenor  of  his  way 
And  as  a  force  reliant  served  his  day. 
His  counsel,  from  experience  drawn,  was  wise. 
He  stood   for  what  was  right  without  disguise ; 
Fearless  and  brave,  assertive  of  his  thought, 
The  ends  of  life  with  diligence  he  wrought. 
Though  many  years  have  hid  him  from  our  sight, 
Since  last  we  saw  his  friendly  guiding  light, 
His  coming  steps  yet  seem  to  near  us  meeting, 
The  kindly  voice  seems  still  to  speak  a  greeting. 


WESTSIDE  235 

MEDAD  STONE. 

May  12,  1754 — February  17,  181 5. 

The  very  picture  of  romance,  it  stands 
And  looking  from  its  leafy  seat,  commands 
The  wide   expansive  vale,   where   shadows  glide 
From  clouds  and  woods  and  where  the  speeding  tide, 
As  constant  as  the  sun,  foretells  the  time  of  day. 
The  village  spires  and  houses,  there  away 
In  distance,  gleaming ;    and  the  still  blind  brook 
Darts  down  and  bubbles,  murmuring  from  its  nook, 
And  through  bird-meadows  banked  its  tribute  pours 
In  silence ;   but  in  flood,  aloud  it  roars. 

Here  Medad  reigned,  in  this  his  lordly  mansion, 
And  to  much  enterprise  he  gave  expansion 
And  swelled  the  Revolution,  to  which  he  sped 
As  minute-man :    at  Boston  prompt  reported 
At  the  first  alarm :    here  was  wayside  inn 
A  hiding-place  from  life's  too  noisy  din. 

A  comfort  to  the  traveler,  all  day  jolted, 
Who  then  from  further  staging  glad  revolted 
And  rested  there  upon  a  few  plucked  feathers 
That  gave  him  safety  in  electric  weathers 
And  pinions  to  his  dreams :    with  swift  relay, 
Medad  triweekly  coursed  the  king's  highway 
And  carried  Guilford  and  commercial  ends 
To  all  the  world  of  news,  where  trade  contends. 

Then,  on  the  public  square,  his  station  kept 
As  public  post;    till  here  he  came  and  slept 
Beneath  this   monumental   tablet  that  asserts 
His  early  grandeur  and  his  late  deserts. 

11* 


236  MEMORIAL  EPITAPHS 

MRS.  MARY  GRIFFING  STONE. 

April  20,  1758 — December  31,   1826. 

A  Griffing  and,  with  reason,  she  was  proud, 

Who  with  this  marble  tablet  was   endowed 

And  low,  ambitious  lies ;    nor  is  forgot, 

Though  many  generations  know  her  not. 

And  though  here,  we  describe  not  a  feature, 

Doubt  not  she  was  a  beautiful,  rare  creature. 

Rare  faculties  executive  sure  she  had : 

Nor  without  them,  had  been  wife  to  Medad — 

To  grapple  daily  with  the  stage  and  four, 

To  care  for  strangers,  she  should  see  no  more. 

Her  presence  then,  commanding  fair  and  tall, 

Gave  air  distinguished  to  this  manor-hall. 

On  the  verandah,  forth  one  morn,  she  walked 

And  viewed  the  landscape  and  with  children  talked ; 

Who  now  recall  her  living  presence,  when 

She  was   so  promenading,  there  and  then. 

One  widowed  decade,  Medad  she  survived : 

To  fill  his  presence,   naught  on  earth  contrived. 

Forth  fared  she  then  and  laid  her  glory  down 

And  added  the  last  pathos  to  her  crown. 

MIS£  CLARISSA  JENNETTE  STONE. 

June  30,  1815 — March  25,  1880. 

This  silence  ill  fits  her,  who  charmed  the  hour 
With  magic  memories,  past  common  power; 
Scarce  less  than  the  Britannica,  she  knew 
And  taught  that  precious  scarceness  to  a  few. 
Was  asked  to  meet  the  Dean  and  talk  awhile, 
Stanley  the  ward  of  London's  minster  pile; 
For  she  was  friend  of  Cyrus  Field  and  wife 
And  had  been,  quite  from  very  early  life. 
She  wandered  thoughtful  in  the  past  and  few 


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WESTSIDE  237 

Like  her  could  past  recall  with  ready  clue ; 
When,   in  the  course  of  conversation,  she 
Would  lecture  on  old  English  history. 
She  loved  the  past  that  piqued  her  by  its  mystery 
And  knew  rare  recipes  for  canning  history. 
Long  hunted  kins  and  names  and  traced  relations 
Among  all  sorts  of  folk  and  divers  nations ; 
Traced  missing  Nat.  and  John  and  Ebenezer 
And  left  some  scripture,  leading  back  to  Caesar. 
Her  eyes  like  sibyl's  shone  with  spirit  bright 
Alas !    she  has  stepped  out  into  the  night. 

.  MISS  SARAH  TALCOTT. 

October  2.  1841 — March   ii,  1866. 

A  pure,  transparent  soul,  without  finesse, 
Who  much  increased  our  village  cheerfulness, 
She  came  to  visit  earth,  prepared  to  live 
With  every  dower  that  birth  and  fortune  give ; 
Her  virtues  fairly  beaming  in  the  face, 
Showing  mind,  merit  and  a  gentle  grace. 
Such  was  her  worth  and  wondrous  pleasing  power, 
Who  sped  away  in  life's  fair  morning  hour. 
She  knew  the  muses  all  and  tuned  the  lyre 
And  artful  touched  the  notes  that  led  the  choir; 
With  zeal  pursued  the  Greek  and  Roman  lores 
And  added  Euclid's  learning  to  her  stores. 
Her  ardent  eyes  with  swift,  clairvoyant  gaze 
Seemed  to  divine  and  pierce  the  darkest  maze, 
Her  presence  fair,  the  eager  look  refined, 
That  much  so  clearly  saw  and  more  divined, 
We  full  lament,  in  all  its  youthful  charm, 
With  all  the  gifts  that  Death  must  early  harm, 
Who  drew  his  shaft  and  pierced  this  shining  mark 
And  left  her  friends  and  kindred  in  the  dark. 


238  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

DOCTOR  ALVAN  TALCOTT. 

August  17,  1804 — January  17,  1891. 

Childless,  alone,  the  old  man  walks  the  street 
And  quickly  walks  nor  loiters,  but  to  greet 
A   friend:    then  passes  to  his  journey's  end, 
Where,  as  lost  patient,  he  himself  must  send. 

Of  body  slight,  there  wants  but  little  space 
To  hold   this   figure   that  has   run   its   race 
In  arts  of  healing,  learning  and  research, 
When  quite  undoctorlike  he  went  to   church 
And  the  Bible  studied :    his   chief   delight 
Was  in  the  past  to  grope  with  candle  light. 

His  life-long,  dear,  devoted  daily  work, 
For  which  all  sundry  other  things  might  shirk, 
Was  known  to  be  a  mammoth  folio  book; 
Wherein,  were  written  fine,  the  names  he  took 
Of  Guilford  folk  for  many  leagues  around, 
Old  Guilford  stock  above  and  under  ground. 

He  was  a  student  apt  in  ancient  lore 
Of  Greek  and  Latin  tongues;    and  there  would  pore 
And,  when  he  pleased  to,  scan  his  Homer;   then 
Run  with  therapeutics  and  a  drug,  when 

Some  ailing  body  called  for  dose,  or  lance, 
And  throw  the  customary,  healing  glance; 
Fling  his  powders  and  his  opiates  around, 
Or  tap  a  chest  to  see  which  lung  was  sound. 

Sprightly,  alert  and  youthful  were  his  ways. 
Decrepitude  filled  not  his  closing  days; 
For  Fate  the  anchor  with  all  ease  uplifted 
And  out  of  life,  his  bark  then  calmly  drifted. 


DR.    AI.VAN    TALCOTT. 


WESTSIDE  239 

MRS.  OLIVE  NORTON  TALCOTT. 

April  21,  1807 — December  8,  1882. 

She  had  arch  wit  to  charm  and  to  divine, 
It  was  a  gift;    indeed  she  did  incline 
To  pierce  things,  hid  from  sun  and  evening  stars. 
Yet  naught,  to  us  unkind,  her  memory  mars. 
For  she  could  quiz  a  youth  to  grief  and  wonder, 
Who  answered  her  too  quickly  with  a  blunder, 
Wherever  fast  the  chatting  converse  led, 
While  she  stopped  only  to  bite  off  a  thread. 
He  might  pursue,  but  find  himself  no  match, 
Conclusions  back  and  forth  to  throw  and  catch. 

This  woman,  full  of  wonders  beyond  mention, 

Did  good  a  little  out  of  all  convention 

And  gave  the  poor  her  independent  lance, 

And  taught  them  how  some  comforts  to  enhance. 

The  stature  short,  the  gaze  of  sibyl  eye 

To  charm  was  not  seen  often  passing  by. 

She  spoke  the  wizard  warnings  of  her  day 

Until  responses  with  her  passed  away. 

She  had  these  marks  of  mortal  here  above 

Like  fostered  friend,  whose  very  lisp  we  love. 

JUDGE  JOEL  TUTTLE. 

May  8,  1792— May  i,  1855. 

This  thriving  merchant  had  a  turn  for  thrift 
And   occupied  with   zeal   his  precious   rift 
Of  time  in  life  with  profit  and  per  cents. 
Prudence,  method,  care  thus  his  life  presents. 
Far  seeing,  he  was  forced  to  be  or  fail ; 
Wary  of  fickle  fortune  or  bewail 
His  luckless  trust  and  over-faith  in  chances, 
For  profit  without  loss  all  care  enhances. 


240  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

He  made,  to  serve  his  ends,  time,  tact  and  skill 

And  with  these  instruments,  he  plied  his  will. 

He  grew  in  public  active  in  those  days 

And  showed  the  course  to  steer  through  danger's  ways ; 

In  town,  then  every  trust  at  him  was  thrown; 

As  clerk,  judge,  senator  for  years  was  known. 

In  church  his  form  rose,  rev'rent,  straight  and  spare 

And  closing  eyes  stood  through  the  longer  prayer. 

Time  sweeping  drives  all  memories  away ; 

These  let  us  save  unto  a  later  day. 

No  heritage  more  precious  is  received 

Than  character  like  this,  so  well  achieved. 

MRS.  LUCY  EVELINE  TUTTLE. 

January  6,  1814 — July  29,  1883. 

Generations,  long,   full  and  of  the  best, 

Had  entered  into  her  and  made  her  blest 

On  earth  and  later,  "sainted  in  the  grave." 

So  sage,  in  name  and  nature,  wisdom  gave 

Wide   worth   to   life,   increased    its   morning   power 

And  lent  sweet  dignity  to  evening  hour. 

Her  form  had  majesty  full  and  dower 

Of  gentleness,  calm  and  sure,  as  in  our 

Hard  and  stormy  bounds  of  life  still  endure. 

And  spirits  chastened,  noble,  fine  and  pure, 

To  our  glad  wonderment  and  love  appear, 

Though  hardly  can  we  tell  how  came  they  here. 

For  long  years,  first  the  widowed  mother  left, 

Then  more  chastened,  all  childless  and  bereft, 

Herself  and  graces  only  spared  alone, 

In  deeds  of  kinder  helpfulness  were  shown. 

So  wafted  down  the  gliding  years,  on  arm 

Of  sister  love  to  rest,  and  then  her  charm 

Of  worth  and  sympathy  she  bore  away 

And  fared  her  forth  like  the  declining  day. 


WESTSIDE  241 

WILLIAM    SAGE   TUTTLE. 

December  28,  1854 — July  27,  1867. 

He  came  to  us  with  high  resolve  to  live 

And  of  his  life  the  best  account  to  give. 

Within  the  boy,  the  man  did  early  gleam 

And  promised  what  his  coming  life  should  seem. 

His  pleasure  sought  sweet  duty  to  obey, 

With  guides  to  noble  ends  to  find  his  way. 

He  trained  his  youthful  tongue  to  Roman  speech 

And  sought  the  richest  lore  the  classics  teach. 

Along  the  ways  he  plucked  and  pressed  the  flowers, 

From  Nature  learned  and  added  to  his  powers. 

And  when  grave  men  of  country's  peril  spoke, 

He  listened  till  the  love  of  country  woke. 

Into  the  future  far,  life's  role  did  plan 

And  here  unfolding  it,  eagerly  he  ran. 

Now  we  may  mourn  for  him  nor  think  him  lost, 

Nor  idly  talk  of  failure,  waste  and  cost; 

For  see !    where  Olivet's*  bright  lights  now  burn, 

His  impulse  leads  a  hundred  youth  to  learn, 

Who  multiply  for  him  the  self  same  thought 

To  whose  unfolding  once,  he  nobly  wrought. 

ALBERT   BOARDMAN   WILDMAN. 

June  2,  1810 — May  2,  1878. 

He  stood  uprightly  tall  and  manly  fair, 
And  wore  on  his  smooth  face  the  higher  air 
Of  honor  and  proved  probity,  unswerving. 
It  seemed  quite  natural  nor  needed  nerving 
From  sermon  or  from  motive  practical ; 
The  gift,   its   own  reward,   more  actual. 
He  was  a  merchant,  of  an  older  time, 

*  A  memorial  of  $15,000  for  Olivet  College  Librae,  by  Mrs.  Tuttle. 


242  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

When  six  pence  passed  by  candlelight  for  dime. 

Tuttle  he  knew  and  loved  and  linked  the  name 

With  his ;  merchants  of  good  report  and  fame, 

Successful  through  their  dealing  days  and  lives. 

Not  such  as  bold  and  meritless  connives 

To  seize  and  turn  the  common  weal  to  woe, 

But  sought  by  willing  suffrage  he  did  go 

And  added  Guilford  to  the  common  sense ; 

Then  through  the  war  he  served  by  son  and  pence. 

His  manner  frank  and  fair  and  mild  and  genial, 

As  fellow  man,  well  would  treat  a  menial. 

A  father  of  the  town,  he  walked  our  ways 

And  then  from  life  retreated,  full  of  praise  . 

CAPTAIN  FREDERICK  WELD. 

February  i,  1820 — January  12,  1893. 

Of   order,   clear-eyed,   stalwart,  manly,   rare, 
He  looked  defiant  to  all  dangers,  where 
A  timely  boldness,  skill  and  prudent  sway 
Might  o'ermatch  nature  standing  in  the  way. 

Of  all  our  wanderers,  on  earth  afar, 
He  sailed  full  nearest  to  the  Northern  star. 
Then,  neighbor  to  the  seal  and  polar  bear, 
Mid  frozen,  icy,  Arctic  regions,  where 
Franklin  had  left  sad  tokens  of  defeat, 
He  lived  awhile  as  at  his  country  seat. 
Among  the  Esquimaux  and  their  high  life, 
Surveyed  their  huts  and  desperate,  cold  strife. 

Where  Peary,  Greeley,  Kane  and  others  went, 
He,  bravely  steering,  sailed  on  errands,  bent ; 
Pursuing  chief  those  monsters  of  the  deep 
That  with  their  mighty  powers,  raging  sweep 


WESTSIDE  243 

Man  and  boat  off  from  earth,  air  and  water, 
Or  try  to  sweep  and  oft  succeed;    such  slaughter 
Nantucket  knew :    but  on  it  throve  and  so 
Did  he  and  through   his   early  years   did  go 
Through  Ochotsk  and  the  north,  connecting  seas; 
Such  life  adventure  did  his  spirit  please, 

And  bounding  twice  from  waves  to  waves  along 
Around  the  world  his  sails  did  twice  prolong; 
Then  here,  he  came  to  rest  upon  his  oars 
Or  sail  on  seas,  in  memory's  pictured  stores. 
Such  heroism,  valorous,  bold  and  brave, 
Reposes,  anchored  in  this  quiet  grave. 


12 


INDEX  OF  NAMES. 

PAGE 

Eden  Phillips  Allen  (West.) 183 

Reverend    Ab'ram    Chittenden    Baldwin    (Bowdoin    Coll. 

1827),   (West.)    183 

Reverend  David  Baldwin  (Aid.) 47 

Mrs.  Ruth  Elliott  Baldwin   (Aid.) 48 

William  Ward  Baldwin   (Aid.) 49 

Captain  George  Bartlett   (Aid.) 53 

Reverend  Lorenzo  Thompson  Bennett,  D.D.   (Yale  Univ. 

1825),    (Aid.)    50 

Mrs.  Marina  Bishop  Bennett   (Aid.) 51 

Miner  Bradley   (West.) 184 

Misses  Caroline  and  Harriet  Bradley  (West.) 185 

Doctor  Samuel  William  Biown  (Yale  Univ.  Med.  1823), 

(Aid.) 52 

Mrs.  Hannah  Humphrey  Brown   (Aid.) 53 

Colonel  John  Burgis   (Aid.)    54 

Miss  Frances  Stone  Burgis  (Aid.) 55 

Miss  Clarissa  Caldwell   (Aid.) 55 

Doctor    Joel    Canfield    (Yale    Univ.    hon.    Med.    1847), 

(West.)    186 

Mrs.  Lucretia  Marilla  Canfield   (West.) 187 

Mrs.  Elsie  Reeve  Chittenden   (West.) 188 

Mrs.  Eunice  Fowler  Chittenden  (West.) 187 

Henry  Ward  Chittenden   (Aid.) 56 

Mrs.  Mary  Griffing  Chittenden   (Aid.) 58 

Mrs.  Lydia  Elizabeth  Coan  (Aid.) 59 

Frederick  Cruttenden   (West.) 189 

Mrs.  Mary  Griswold  Cruttenden  (West.) 189 

Deacon  Julius  Albert  Dowd  (West.) 190 

George  Dudley  (Aid.)    59 


246  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

PAGE 

Joel  Dudley   (Aid.) 60 

James  Ambrose  Dudley  (Aid.) 61 

John  Dunn    (Aid.) 61 

Miss  Henriette  Dupraz   (Aid.) 65 

Reverend  Aaron  Dutton  (Yale  Univ.  1803),  (Aid.) 66 

Miss  Mary  Dutton   (Aid.) 67 

Mrs.  Catherine  Hill  .Elliott   (Aid.) 67 

Charles  Wyllys  Elliott  (Aid.) 68 

Lewis  Rossiter  Elliott  (Aid.) 69 

Wyllys  Elliott    (Aid.) 69 

Mrs.  Lucy  Camp  Elliott-Hale    (Aid.) 70 

Mrs.  Nancy  Judson  Fisher  (West.) 195 

Edwin  Flook   (West.) 191 

Andrew  Ward  Foote  (Aid.) 72 

Colonel  George  Augustus  Foote  (Aid.) 71 

Abraham  Scott  Fowler  (West.) 191 

Miss  Annette  Barker  Fowler  (West.) 192 

George  Augustus  Fowler  (West.) 193 

Henry  Fowler  (West.) 193 

Miner   Fowler    (Aid.) 72 

Mrs.  Charity  Ives  Fowler   (Aid.) 73 

Captain  Richard  Fowler  (Aid.) 74 

William  Ward  Fowler   (Aid.) 74 

Russell   Frisbie    (West.) 194 

Reverend  Alva  Bradley  Goldsmith  (West.) 197 

Mrs.  Mary  Cruttenden  Goldsmith   (West.) 198 

Elliott  Wyllys  Gregory  (Aid.) 75 

Mrs.  Charlotte  Selleck  Gregory  (Aid.) 76 

Judge  Nathaniel  Griffing  (Yale  Univ.  1786),  (West.) 198 

Mrs.  Sarah  Brown  Griffing  (West.) 199 

Frederick  Redfield  Griffing  (West.) 200 

George  Cleveland  Griswold  (Aid.) 76 

Mrs.  Julia  Chapman  Griswold   (Aid.) 77 

Joel  Griswold  (Aid.) 79 


INDEX    OF    NAMES  247 

PAGE 

Lewis    Griswold    (Aid.) 78 

Mrs.  Lucretia  Linsley  Griswold  (Aid.) 78 

Augustus  Pratt  Hall   (West.) 200 

Sherman  Bradley  Hall   (West.) 201 

Miss  Harriet  Elizabeth  Hall  (West.) 202 

Reverend  Eli  Edwin  Hall   (Aid.) .  80 

Reverend  Henry  Lewis  Hall  (Yale  Univ.- 1860),  (Aid.)..  81 

Fitz  Greene  Halleck  (Aid.) 84 

Miss  Maria  Halleck  (Aid.) 85 

Daniel   Hand    (West.) 204 

Miss  Ruth  Hart   (Aid.) 87 

Colonel  William  Hart  (Aid.) 86 

George  Hill  (Yale  Univ.  1816).  (Aid.) 88 

Alfred  Hinckley   (West.) 202 

Mrs.  Rebecca  Ruggles  Hopkins   (Aid.) 89 

Miss  Ruth  Frazer  Hopkins  (Aid.) 90 

Amos  Samuel  Hotchkiss  (West.) 205 

John  Hotchkiss  (West.) 206 

William  Henry  Hubbard  (West.) 203 

Deacon  Alfred  Gustavus  Hull  (Aid.) 91 

Mrs.  Mary  Parmelee  Hull  (Aid.) 91 

Robert  Hunt  (West.) 207 

Horatio  Nelson  Johnson   (Aid.) 92 

Samuel  Johnson,  Jr.   (West.) 208 

Major  Samuel  Collins  Johnson   (West.) 209 

Mrs.  Olive  Spencer  Johnson  (West.) 209 

George  Chapman  Kimberly   (Aid.) 93 

Judge  Edward  Ruggles  Landon  (Yale  Univ.  1833),  (Aid.)  95 

Mrs.  Parnel  Clarissa  Landon  (Aid.) 96 

Judge  George  Landon  (Aid.) 93 

Mrs.  Ruth  Hart  Landon  (Aid.) 94 

Thomas  Hart  Landon  (Aid.) 95 

Miss  Eunice  Elizabeth  Lay  (Aid.) 97 

Deacon  Albert  Augustus  Leete  (West.) 212 


24S  MEMORIAL   EPITAPHS 

PAGE 

Mrs.  Betsey  Ann  Leete   (West.) 212 

Sidney  Ward  Leete  (West.) 213 

Deacon  Calvin  Miner  Leete   (West.) 214 

Deacon  Edward  Lorenzo  Leete    (West.) 215 

Morris  Atwell  Leete  (West.) 216 

Mrs.  Clarinda  Graves  Leete  (West.) 217 

Henry   Loper    (Aid. ) 98 

Mrs.  Anna  Fowler  Loper  (Aid.) 98 

Charles  Wilson  Miller  (West.) 217 

Beverly  Monroe    (West.) 218 

Erastus  Munson    (Aid.) 99 

Mrs.  Ann  Elizabeth  Munson  (Aid.) 100 

William  H.  H.  Murray  (Yale  Univ.  1862),  (West.) 219 

Wallace  Norton   (Aid.) 102 

William  Norton  (Yale  Univ.  1829),  (West.) 220 

Mrs.  Mary  Clarissa  Parker  (West.) 221 

Deacon  Eli  Parmelee  (Aid.) 102 

Mrs.  Betsey  Ann  Parmelee  (Aid.) 103 

Jonathan  Parmelee   (Aid.) 104 

Captain  Uriah  Nelson  Parmelee  (West.) 222 

Franklin  Collins   Phelps   (Aid.) 104 

Doctor  Gideon  Perry  Reynolds  (West.) 223 

Reverend  Henry  Robinson  (Yale  Univ.  1811),  (West.)  . . .  224 

Mrs.  Mary  dishing  Robinson   (West.) 225 

Major  Samuel  Robinson  (Yale  Univ.  1817),   (West.)  ....  226 

Amos   Seward    (Aid.) 106 

Mrs.  Sarah  Hubbard  Seward   (Aid.) 107 

George  Morse  Seward  (Aid.) 105 

Miss  Mary  Caroline  Smith  (West.) 229 

Judge  Ralph  Dunning  Smyth  (Yale  Univ.  1827),  (Aid.)  . .  108 

Mrs.  Rachel  Stone  Smyth  (Aid.) 109 

Walter  Hebert  Smyth  (Yale  Univ.  1863),  (Aid.) no 

Richard  Edward  Smyth  (Yale  Univ.  1866),  (Aid.) in 

Samuel  Spencer  (West.) 229 


INDEX    OF    NAMES  249 

PAGE 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Tuthill  Spencer  (West.)    230 

Henry  Reeve  Spencer   (West.) 232 

Mrs.  Temperance  Tuthill  Spencer  (West.) 231 

William  Stanton    (West.) 233 

Deacon  Comfort  Starr  (Aid.) Ill 

Mrs.  Lydia  Lay  Starr  (Aid.) 112 

Miss  Clarissa  Jennette  Stone  (West.) 236 

Leverett  Camp  Stone   (West.) 234 

Medad  Stone  (West.) 235 

Mrs.  Mary  Griffing  Stone  (West.) 236 

Doctor  Alvan  Talcott  (Yale  Univ.  1824),  (West.) 238 

Mrs.  Olive  Norton  Talcott  (West.) 239 

Miss  Sarah  Talcott  (West.) 237 

Mrs.  Sarah  Redfield  Todd  (Aid.) 113 

Judge  Joel  Tuttle  (West.) 239 

Mrs.  Lucy  Eveline  Tuttle  (West.) 240 

William  Sage  Tuttle   (Wes*.) 241 

Mrs.  Annie  Griswold  Vittum   (Aid.) 114 

Captain  Frederick  Weld   (West. ) 242 

Albert  Boardman  Wildman   (West.) 241 

Alfred  Nelson  Willcox  (Aid.) 114 

Eleazer  Woodruff  (Aid.) 115 

Mrs.  Harriet  Atwood  Woodruff   (Aid.) 116 


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